Haus der Toten
by BamItsTyler
Summary: "This time around, competence is key. Without that, you've already lost."- Let the 95th Hunger Games begin. -SYOT-
1. Prologue Pt One

_**I don't own the Hunger Games, just building up on what Ms. Collins didn't.**_

* * *

 _ **Council of Nations (CN) summit on international affairs (Colonization, arms expenditures, Panemian atrocities.)**_

 _ **Geneva, Federal Republic of Switzerland,**_

 _ **January 5th, 2158 (95th Year)**_

* * *

FADE IN:

EXT. PRESIDENTIAL HOVERPLANE - DAY -

 _Panem's presidential hoverplane, clad in white, blue and gold trimmings, flies over the remnants of Europe. The sky is painted a dark grey hue, most likely due to soot. In the background, two military variants flank the aircraft. As the planes advance towards their destination, the decaying remnants of Portugal's Belem Tower can be seen in the foreground._

INT. PRESIDENTIAL HOVERPLANE

 _PRESIDENT_ _Agesilaus KANE, a compassionate man in his late 70's, sits with members of his cabinet in a lounge room. The lounge room itself is state of the art, decked out with black leather seats and granite desks while the walls are made out of a glossy wood. The President motions to light up a cigar, only to be cut off by a curt clearing of the throat. The President's chief of staff, GIDEON MONTRESOR, playfully waggles his finger. Gideon is a man of average height in his mid 50's, he looks rather disheveled but sage nonetheless._

Gideon:

 _(Slyly)_ Ah, ah, ah, Mr. President. May I remind you that someone in this room is expecting? You wouldn't want the baby to be harmed, would you? _(he gestures towards VICE PRESIDENT VIONDRA DeWYNTER, early 40's, who sends a scoff their way while absentmindedly smoothing down her stomach, which isn't as big for a woman of eight months.)_

Agesilaus:

 _(Chuckling)_ Of course not Gideon. I suppose I should give you credit where it's due Viondra. . . _(he glances at her, she returns the gesture.)_ I don't know how you continue to carry out your duties, let alone attend this dammed summit _eight_ months with child.

Viondra:

 _(Snidely)_ I won't let an infant distract me from the task at hand. The sooner it comes, the better. _(She nods curtly, gesturing towards ARISTELLA BELLIARE, Minister of Foreign Affairs. In her late 20's, Aristella is of above average height and has pale skin with a rosy hue to it.)_ What's the rundown of today's events?

Aristella:

 _(she hands Viondra her tablet)_ Their typical attempts to bash us into submission with sanctions too obsolete to make a dent, along with other casual threats. _(she turns towards President Kane)_ You haven't told anyone about that speech you were planning to deliver, hopefully it's enough to whip these guys into place?

 _All the eyes in the room slowly turn towards the President, who simply gives a smug nod in return._

Agesilaus:

 _(Contently)_ It's sure to whip everyone into place . . .

Viondra:

 _(Agitated)_ Whatever it is better put them in _their_ place.

 _Kane shrugs. All eyes turn towards the door in which a formally dressed PEACEKEEPER, black trench coat and all, slips into the room._

Peacekeeper:

Sirs, ma'am's, we've arrived.

EXT. GENEVA, FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF SWITZERLAND

 _The presidential hoverplane lands on a well-to-do airport. Geneva could pass as the Capitol with its advanced urban sprawl. Geneva serves as home of the Council of Nations (CN) and neutral ground for deliberations. Just outside the presidential hoverplane is a red carpet and velvet ropes, supported by a delegation of Swiss officials and soldiers._

 _As President Kane steps out of the hoverplane, a Peacekeeper dressed in ceremonial uniform (Ivory white suit with a gold buttons, aiguillette and commendations) snaps a crisp salute as Kane begins his descent down the stairs. Kane and his Cabinet are met by DIETRICH ANHEUSER, President of Switzerland._

Dietrich:

Welcome back to Switzerland Mr. President, Madame Vice President.

 _Dietrich and his officials begin to shake hands and engage in pleasantries with the Panemian delegation. Dietrich gently taps Viondra's stomach, to which she retracts back slightly._

Dietrich:

You? Pregnant? Ha, I never though I'd see the day.

 _His remarks earn stifled snickers from Gideon and Agesilaus._

Viondra:

 _(Indifferent.)_ The sooner its out, the better.

 _He shrugs, smirking. Viondra, Agesilaus, Gideon, Aristella and him are then escorted by Peacekeepers to a motorcade of a couple dozen cars, the four of them enter a single limousine, settling in as the procession makes its way towards CN headquarters. Dietrich passes each of them a classified dossier. Agesilaus reaches into his beast pocket and retrieves a pair of reading glasses. Each of them looks at a map of southeast Asia, the majority of the north (mainland Asia) is shaded red, while the south (Indonesia/Malaysia/ Philippines blue.)_

Dietrich:

What you're looking at is your influence within southern Asia, or what's left of it. The north is backed by you while the south is backed by Britain.

Agesilaus:

 _(Turning towards Gideon.)_ I thought we stopped aiding the North Indochinese back in '55...

Gideon:

 _(Shrugging.)_ Panem needs their vegetation reserves and they need our guns...I'd call it a fair trade.

Dietrich:

 _(Sternly)_ And others would call it manipulation.

 _He wriggles a finger at Gideon who tilts his head, indifferent._

People aren't taking lightly to your intrusion within the region. They believe in isolationism, much like the policies of your President Snow.

Agesilaus:

 _(Adamantly)_ If Panem is to further prosper as a nation, we need to begin expanding our influence beyond our confines.

 _This earns a pleasant nod from Aristella, a scowl from Viondra._

Viondra:

 _(Muttering)_ We aren't expanding our influence the right way, if you ask me.

INT. PALACE OF NATIONS

 _Dietrich and the Panemian delegation are escorted down extravagant hallways and corridors into a grand conference room, shaped like a "U". The conference room explodes with conversation as the delegation strides towards their seats. The Panemian delegation take their seats in the middle of the "U". To their immediate left is supreme leader_ _AHN SUN POK, leader of the Unified Korea delegation along with her aides, clad in crisp military outfits. To their right, is the delegation from the Union of Socialist States led by SERGEI KUDRYAVTSEV. Beside them is the Caliphate of Arabia, led by MUTHASIM V. Him, alongside his aides are dressed in white thwabs and red keffiyehs. Both foreign delegations greet the Panemian officials with open arms, engaging in handshakes and small talk, barring the United Kingdom delegation led by LAWRENCE III. Sitting at the far left side, Lawrence scowls as the three world powers engage in conversation._

Lawrence:

 _(Annoyed)_ Excuse me, but are we done prattling on like children? We have a meeting to undertake.

 _Diplomats regard the king with uneasy stares, before settling into their seats. President Dietrich takes his seat on an elevated position before the "U" table._

Dietrich:

Ladies and gentlemen, we are here today to discuss the well being of our planet, am I right? _(Mutters of agreement ring throughout the room)._ We've all heard the stories, the world being engulfed by strife, despair and nuclear fire, initiated by our forefathers who were blinded by greed and conquest. Our buildup of arms expenditures are reaching unprecedented levels. If we continue our path of manifest destiny and military expansion, we will see those days transpire again.

 _Delegates across the room nod solemnly as King Lawrence rises out of his seat and points directly at the Panemian delegation._

Lawrence:

With these incompetent fools still in "Office", a fourth world war won't be too far way I tell you now. Razing land, toppling governments for their own monopoly, if it weren't for Great Britain, it would be safe to say that all of you would be under Panemian influence. Bloody hell, just look at the damn Koreans!

 _Lawrence is met with some backlash from the other delegations, he's also met with praise. Dieteich calls for order as the floor erupts with outcry. The Panemian delegation calmly smirk to themselves. Agesilaus on the other hand keeps a famished expression on his mug._

Dietrich:

 _(Sighs deeply, points to Aristella)_ Madam Minister. . .?

Aristella:

Your ' _Majesty',_ these accusations of exploitation against smaller nation states are hearsay . . . If anything, we're assuring that said nations are stable as they possibly can be, giving power to those who'll wield it to the best of their abilities. ( _Knowing this is a lie, her lips twitch into a coy smile.)_ And excuse me for prying your majesty, I don't recall you standing for election?

 _Laughter erupts throughout the room, the Koreans mainly the most boisterous. The room is quickly subdued as Lawrence scans the length of it with malice. He turns back towards the Panemian delegation._

Lawrence:

 _(Sternly)_ Watch your words Madam Belliard, you're still new to this so I'll disregard that last statement . . . _(turning towards Korean delegation)_ Is there something funny?

Pok:

 _(Still chuckling)_ Oh leave her alone, you remember when we shoot down British hoverplane last week? You no angel your Majesty . . . _(she glances at Kudryavtsev)_

Kudryavtsev:

 _(Cockily, waggling a finger at the British delegation as he chuckles)_ Da, Da . . . Don't forget advisors you paid set free last month, when we captured rest of Mongolia. You say British stay neutral, why find them there? Hmm?

 _Mutters erupt around the conference room, as the British delegation stand adamant, yet dumbfounded. King Lawrence regains his footing._

Lawrence:

If it weren't for us intervening, the world, or what's left of it, would be in an even more terrible shape.

Muthasim:

If you would follow your isolationist policies, we would all be at a much better footing, no? We've survived the unfortunate disasters thrown our way . . . others weren't so lucky. Colonization of vacant lands shouldn't be an issue. No one has any right to call out any nation for its annexation policies, as they conduct the same policies too.

Lawrence:

 _(Scoffing) Please._ North Indochina. South-West Africa. The Communist Republic of Congo. The bloody Koreans! _(he points to Pok, who smirks and shrugs)_ spreading your ideology everyplace and everywhere isn't doing anyone any favours. as long as your governments continue their aggression against foreign nations, we'll keep our nuclear stockpiles-

 _(He points directly at the Panemian delegation)_

 _ESPECIALLY_ with the despicable atrocities committed by the Panemian government . . . I have word from a Panemian exile who happens to be my Prime Minister . . . a miss Alma Coin among others, that the Panemian's use mere _children_ as bloodsport, forcing them to fight to the death until one remains! Disgusting. These . . . "Hunger Games" your government condone against your people is utterly disgusting.

 _The floor erupts with chatter. The Panemian delegation keep straight lipped expressions as President Dietrich calls for order._

Aristella:

 _(Somewhat belligerent)_ That is hearsay! As long as the British hold on to their nuclear stockpiles, our weapons of mass destruction won't be downsized. You have no proof that!

 _The Koreans, Russians and Arabians affirm Aristella's words, among other nations. President Kane rises from his seat, earning hundreds of eyes shooting his way._

Lawrence:

( _Scoffing)_ Finally. The man himself speaks.

Agesilaus:

 _(Indifferent to the King's jab)_ I retract my Ministers words.

 _This earns an uneasy smile from Aristella and the others aides, alongside a neutral expression from Gideon and a glare from Viondra._

Fellow Heads of State, what the British have been saying about the Hunger Games are true.

 _Astonished gasps wash across the floor as Lawrence's lips twitch into a snide smile. Viondra fumes, but holds her tongue. Gideon appears indifferent._

In fact, for the past ninety-five years, these games have been transpiring. _(he glances at his delegation)_ Not anymore. _(he turns back from his astonished colleagues)_ In fact, by the year 2163, the Hunger Games shall be no more. I'm willing to lay down our arms and contribute to a just and progressive society, a society that won't fall susceptible to destruction as our forefathers had. It's about time we set aside our differences for the better good of our future. President Dietrich, King Lawrence, fellow members of the Council of Nations, let's start anew.

 _The room erupts in heartfelt applause. Leaders like Lawrence and Dietrich are elated at the announcement of less aggression. Leaders like the Koreans and Russians aren't._

Dietrich:

 _(Contently)_ Well then, this brings an end to today's segment on political issues. We shall continue on with resources management after an hour of plentiful refreshments.

 _As world leaders make their way out the chamber, Viondra leaves abruptly followed Panemian aides and Aristella in tow. Gideon remains seated as he watches the rest of their delegation exit. Agesilaus remains standing._

Gideon:

( _Generally surprised, but indifferent)_ That was some speech Mr. President, it sure whipped everyone in their place like you stated.

Agesilaus:

 _(Clamping Gideon on the back)_ As it should have old friend, as it should have. _(Guiding Gideon towards the exit)_ How about we get a little food in our systems, hmm? I care for their beef stew tremendously.

* * *

 ** _Thanks Elim for Gideon! Your OC's, especially Capitol ones are amazingly done. I have big plans for him if I get far enough..._**

 _ **Author's Note:**_ I hope that wasn't confusing . . . Don't worry, this format wont stick. You'll seldom see it throughout non tribute POV's. I'm a 1st person sorta guy. Anyway, welcome to Haus Der Toten! The 95th Hunger Games. The first of my little 'verse.

I've been planning this SYOT for a while now..but I've been sidetracked. You see, my father passed away sometime in may and the funeral was the 13th of June. The circustances between him and I led me to not be sad that he passed away, but moreso angry because the relationship was nonexistant. Mhm, tis' life for you.

So! Here I am with Haus Der Toten. The Second Rebellion was crushed by the Capitol and the regime remains strong. As you can see, under President Kane, Panem is a much more liberal place to live. In my mind, Panem is extremely conservative and fascist.

I also included a retrofuture sorta thing. So expect alot of images, slang and fashion of the 1950's to early 60's to be used throughout the story.

 ** _I will also like to state that the images you see on the "Government website" are not mine at all. All taken from the internet. The text is mine. Some images might be redundant, but is being used for the sake of presentation._**

The form and guidelines are on my profile. The end date for submissions is to be decided. Just check my profile.

Please! I would love much more than "Nice prolouge!" I crave your opinions on the site and the Victors! Make sure to tell me those you're keen on, especially the other website with all the information.

Thank you for considering this SYOT and I hope to see what you guys have for me :3.

( thedewynterdynasty . wordpress . com )

( theluckyfewhg . wordpress . com )


	2. Prologue Pt Two

**Prolouge Part Two**

* * *

 _ **Agesilaus Kane, 77**_

 _ **President of Panem**_

 ** _South Wing, Presidential Mansion_**

 ** _January 21st, 2158 (95 ADD)_**

* * *

"I'm so proud of you darling,".

I smile as my loving wife Cruella smooths down the lapels of my suit. She's my heart and soul, to be quite honest I wouldn't know what to do with myself if she weren't in my life. The reigns of the office in which I sit in is too much to bear for a man as morally steadfast as I . . . If I could even call myself that anymore.

I look her straight in the eyes. "You seem to be one of the many few who think so."

Her smile faltered. She's just as politically avid as I, the office of First Lady calls for it. She knows the division among my own advisors, the media circus revolving my decisions, the dozens of bureaucrats in uproar. _Snow,_ they even called my decision treasonous! _Funny,_ very funny indeed.

"You're going to be the President who ended a _hundred years_ of chaos and despair." Cruella yearned, her hands sliding up to my shoulders "For once, I will be proud to call myself _Panemian._ "

That last part causes my breath to hitch. What she said wasn't entirely wrong, not at all.

This nation has lost its way, only now under my guidance has it slowly turned heel. The principles in which we were found upon, are now forever locked away within the national archives, never to be seen again. In its place comes poor ethics and suppression . . .A perverted interpretation of the dare I say it . . .'democratic' principles we were founded on.

I nod firmly, leaning in for a quick kiss. "I second that.".

And down the grand staircase we go, past the row of Avoxes who have no reason to timidly bow their heads and flee as I send a smirk their way. I quickly find myself kissing the foreheads of my grandchildren in the master kitchen. I can't help but smile as they sit with me, smiling, laughing, going over their days and latest happenings. It's their smiles that get me through the day.

"Look grandpa, I finally got it!" Nina, the eldest at 16 bops in front of me, sashaying her pink and teal poodle skirt accompanied with a white blouse. This retro fad the nation seems to have taken up isn't going anywhere anytime soon I'd say.

I try my best to keep up appearances. "Don't you have _ten_ shades of those already Nina dear?", I say as I sip my coffee.

She scoffs, as if I'm the parent who isn't _'Hip_ ' and " _With the times"_ , "Yes grandpa, but this shade is the one Aveline wears on the Aveline De Grandpre show!"

she points towards the television in which the former 18 year old Master of Ceremonies-now-TV-dance-show-host bops and twirls around with her cast of teens. The show seems to be the bees knees throughout the Capitol and the Districts, with the Districts having their own segment on the show, showcasing their own homegrown talents.

After a moment more of conversation, I say my goodbyes as I'm whisked away by an agent from my protection detail to the much busier west wing of the mansion. Bureaucrats scurry to and from rooms, their movements becoming even more haphazard in my presence, as I'm escorted to the Cabinet Room.

The numerous members of my staff and Cabinet don't notice my entry as I'm shuffled into the board room. A sleek, mahogany long table, supported by numerous cream coloured chairs is situated in the middle of the room, a slightly larger chair reserved for the President sits in the middle of the table. To the far left hand side, is a fireplace flanked by flagpoles. To the right of the room is an exit. Directly behind my chair are three glass doors topped with arched windows, leading towards the south lawn.

All in all, to those not engaged in the decision making process, the overall look supported by the cigar smoke that wafts in the air, the room itself would give the onlooker an air of intimidation.

A Peacekeeper General is the first to catch my eye, standing at attention and snapping a crisp salute alongside his subordinates. The rest of my cabinet follows with a less militaristic rising out of their seats. Gideon pulls my chair aside. Taking my seat, I nod, motioning for them to take their seats.

"Good afternoon everyone." I smile as the room responds with a resounding "Good afternoon, Mister President."

"Has the national census concluded? If so . . ."

My Minister of Districts' Affairs, Marybelle Quercia, nods as she opens a dossier my way.

"Mister President, your economic action plan is going according to plan. By the year 2165, seventy five percent of Panemians should be above the poverty line."

"Good work. Much better than that dreadful thirty percent under Snow. How's the infrastructure and urban development going?"

"Very well," adds Propaganda Minister Fullard, "Our propo's are continuing to coax citizens to move from their rural settlements into the cities. This is working well for the cities of Atlanta District 11, Duluth District 9 and Fort Centurion District 10."

Economics Minister Pennyweather gives a quick raise of the hand. "And with the building of new skyscrapers within the outlying Districts, we'll expect more people within the Districts to transition to more white collar jobs within the years ahead."

I smile. Finally, _progress._ Something to take pride in. No more news about the average floggings Peacekeepers carry out within a month, or the overgrowing mortality rate.

I'm roused from my good mood with a sharp cutting of the throat. I swivel my head to meet the cold face of none other than my own Vice President, Viondra DeWynter. Justice Minister Rose and Defence Minister Corrian, among other aides, also watch on with unwariness.

"This is all _wonderful_ news . . . but I think we're forgetting the key issues here." she says coolly, taking a sip of water.

"Issues like...?" presses Gideon with faux cheeriness, extinguishing his cigar in an ashtray.

She scoffs, "Our ever-failing sovereignty!? Losing the very event that serves as the _institution_ of our nation!? Many Capitolites are in uproar over your choice words regarding the Hunger Games, Mister _President._ "

"They will just need to deal, Madame _Vice_ President." I retort, returning her glare.

"So you're just going to _ignore_ your constituents?" DeWynters voice peaks, her fists slamming the table beneath her. I ignore her childish outbursts, moving on to Defence Minister Corrian.

"You're disarming our nuclear weapons and downsizing our District Peacekeeper Garrisons . . .why? We still have rebels out there who'd love to see this place burn." he seethes lowly, not allowing me the space to even ask of his concerns.

"On top of that, you won't allow my Ministry of Justice to try, execute or monitor former rebel leaders. This, ontop of the mass expansion of District boarders, allows for easy travel." chimes Antonius Rose.

And with that, the room explodes with conflict, with some defending my actions and others attacking my decisions. To no surprise myself, I watch as Gideon contently observes the room with a smirk on his face, as if he were the facilitator and we his subjects.

"You're out of line, you know that Antonius!" says one aide.

"We're giving too much leeway to the Districts! Whatever happened to the master-servant relationship!?" snaps another.

"We're doing _better!_ isn't that why we took on the jobs we do now!? _"_ retorts a female aide.

 _"Quiet."_

And the room does, all eyes directed to me.

"What that young woman says is true. We're doing better. For the first time in a century . . . we're doing _better_. Doesn't that mean anything to you?" I glare down each member of the meeting, some refuse to meet my eyes. I get up and pace, continuing to scan the room.

"Enough of the lack of transparency, enough of the use of soldiers in white suits to oppress a people who already have enough on their plates already. Enough, enough enough."

I sit back down with heavy sigh. "You'll get five more years of your bloodsport and then it all stops there. We move on from this barbaric past of ours and into a new era of prosperity. Something we can all be proud of."

I give the room one last scan, content that they all get the message.

"Meeting dismissed. We'll reconvene next month to speak about our federal highway proposal."

And with that, the room empties without a word. All leave except Gideon who stands my side. After all these years, I wonder where his allegiance truly stands.

"Sometimes I wonder Gideon, will this all be that easy."

He sends lopsided nod my way. "You have twenty-eight million Panemians who seem to agree with you, bar two million Capitolites."

"Ahh, but which has the most say?" I muse.

"Depends. Would you care to partake in another four year war?"

I shake my head within an instant. "Of course not."

My most trusted aide nods, turning to leave. "The Capitol get on the bandwagon soon enough."

I nod after him, waving. As the room is all but empty, I proceed to slowly place my legs ontop of the long table and let out a content sigh.

Progress is a taxing thing to achieve.

* * *

 _ **theluckyfewhg . wordpress . com**_

 _ **thedewynterdynasty . wordpress . com**_

 ** _Victors Blog and my version of Panem respectively._**

 _ **A/N:**_ I just love social commentary/ Politics...Collins doesn't do it enough. Maybe in the next mockingjay I'll get my craving fixed. Sorry if I just overloaded you with nerd talk. I love politics okay? GET INVOLVED CHILDREN.

Okay, submissions are still open and I think erryone that has submitted so far. Also I thank Remus, Elim and Bo for their cabinet people. Especially Elim once again for Gideon, I'm in love with the guy. He reminds me of Mas Amedda from Star Wars.

Continue to submit! I've yet to see some Snow Island submissions though :(, so I hope for those. The outlying Districts are pretty much empty, bar D12, and the Career Districts along side Districts 5 and 7 have nothing too.. soo yeah.

Thank you for reading. Now review and get lost.


	3. Prologue Pt Three

**YO! YOUNG AUTHOR IN THE MAKING!**

YEAH! YOU!

I have advice for you, Tyler takes alot of pride into his work! He'd love it if you also read and reviewed this chapter along with the blog! Its only a mere 1,200 word chapter! Shit happens in this chapter! So! Just a few kind remarks about Vice President DeWynter and the overall feel of the chapter would be amazing...Thank you.

Also sorry I'm late on this, was in Jamaica.

* * *

 **Prologue Part Two.**

* * *

 _ **Viondra C. DeWynter, 40**_

 _ **Vice President of Panem**_

 ** _94th Annual Victors Galla, East Wing,_** _ **Presidential Mansion**_

 _ **January 27th, 2158 (95 ADD)**_

* * *

"-And then he said, 'I'll have the escar _got_ '!"

As the crowd of guests guffaw at Minister Fullard's rather corny joke, I stifle a quiet moan as an avox parades a roasted pig on a platter, supported by a plump apple in its mouth. Its fumes constrict my nostrils and make me feel a whole different type of way altogether.

As the avox lays the platter down in front of us, It takes an agent from my security detail to hustle me towards the soda pop fountain to prevent me from throwing up on the guests.

"Madam Vice President, are you al-"

He shuts up in an instant with a dismissive wave of my hand. "I'm _fine_ Agent Dalliare, as you were."

After a split second of hesitance, the young agent complies and returns to his position. As his back is turned, I quickly find myself patting down my rounded stomach.

 _Stupid, stupid baby . . .Hmph! A kick. Hopefully judging by how hard she does it, she'll be great at ordering avoxes around._

Why did I do it, I wonder. Having the baby that is.

I find myself too domineering for a relationship with a man let alone a woman. Then again, I could care less about sexual attraction as there's much better things worth my time. Regardless of that, I _do_ need someone to continue the bloodline...Even if it means using a random man's baby gravy to do so.

This child better be worth all the sleepless nights, non stop speculation of who the father is and constant trips to the restroom.

"Madam Vice President," a collected voice beckons. I recognize the voice from anywhere. The same cocky, conceited tone I've come accustomed to.

As I turn around, I stand toe to toe with Minister Antonius Rose. To confirm this are two young women no older than twenty on each of his arms, giggling about as he jostles their shoulders and sends a snide smirk my way.

"Minister Rose . . .Still active in getting the youth engaged in the political process I see?" I deadpan, sending a gaze towards the two young women. They frown, but their expressions are quickly changed once Rose's womanizing smirk spreads across his mug.

"Madam Vice President," he clucks his tongue, chuckling, "The youth are the _backbone_ of this great nation! Girls, would you excuse us?" he gently chides them away as they giggle among themselves. I roll my eyes as he takes me by the shoulder and guides me towards the cocktail bar where HeadGamemaker Hyperion tends to a martini.

As soon as his eyes catch ours, his face reddens.

I would be pretty nervous too after his blunder during the 94th. Rose quickly makes himself comfortable on a bar stool while I find myself leaning against the counter top, unable to find comfort on the stool. As much as I could use a mai tai right now, I'm stuck with orange crush due to the baby.

Even now as I drink my beverage, _it_ continues to do somersaults inside of me.

"So! Thames, seeing as it may well be 5 more years until the Games come to a close, I bet you have some golden eggs for us waiting to be hatched?" prods Rose.

"But of course!" Thames exclaims, keeping a watchful eye on me. "Its only _absolutely necessary_ that these five games go on without a hitch, expect great things."

I scoff, earning the attention of my cohorts.

"Please . . .By allowing 5 sniveling brats to become Victors, its hard to expect anything _but."_

This earns a cruel smile by Rose's part as Thames' face flushes an acute red. He regains his composure by taking a sip out of his glass.

"This year'll be different I can assure you." he says nearly a whisper. "This time around, competence is key. Without that, you've already lost." satisfied with his retort, he downs the rest of his drink.

I lean forward within an earshot from the HeadGamemaker, causing the man to stir as I lay a gloved finger on his shoulder.

"For your sake, I hope it does. You're in luck! I'll be heading the Games committee this year. If it were solely up to me, I would've had you killed since '92."

As I finish my sentence, the anthem floods the ball room. The room booms with applause as the two children, hand in hand, are accompanied by Kane with Montresor, their escort and mentor who happens to be a military officer, navy by the looks of it, following behind.

"I suppose our Victors have arrived." muses Rose, as Thames and I join him in sauntering towards the main staircase to get a better glance at our duo.

A Miss Joyceta Rodriguez and a Mister Francisco Noriega of Snow Island, an unofficial District.

The Ministry of Justice deemed these two clear of posing a threat as soon as they were crowned, concluding they're two desperate twelve year olds willing to do whatever it took to survive. We made sure to portray that on a national level, making sure those who're thinking about an Everdeen and Mellark part two were way over their heads.

After toasting to our newly crowned Victors, Rose, Thames and I find ourselves in a hastily put together line and face to face with the youngsters themselves. Now that I'm up close, alongside Thames' uncouth leering at Joyceta, I notice that they too have gone through the body changing procedures. The young girls figure seems more defined for a child on the cusp of puberty, as does the boy, seeming more chiseled and defined from the boy I laid eyes on during the chariot ceremonies.

They may just not be as useless as I _thought_ they were...hmph.

"Victor Noriega, Victor Rodriguez, the Vice President of Panem." says the President.

"Congratulations on your victory children, may I say that it was truly well deserved." I extend my hand out for a shake, but instead I earn a scoff from the two as they roll their eyes in disdain.

" _Dios mio_ I'm marved, do you guys have any food for _folla_ sake?"spits the female co-victor, earning discomfort and astonishment amongst the crowd.

"Well _excuse_ me Miss Rodriguez, I'm sure you were instructed on how to properly conduct yourselves here in the Capitol?" I muse, scoffing half way though. Who in Snow's name do they think they are? Their atrocious accents, the way they leer at us with contempt . . .Even their escort looks like as if she were about to keel over in embarrassment.

" _Please dama_ , we were raised in a community home! Now you heard the lady, we're tired of talking. Let's eat!" the boy by the name of Francisco adds, shoving past delegates as they rush towards the food table.

I guffaw, cutting it short as I glare at Thames, watching as Montresor snorts, the President watches me with careful regard and Rose bursts out laughing.

 _This_ is who we crowned our Victors? _Them!?_ These street urchins?!

"Are you kidding m-"

Suddenly, I feel a rush of water trickling down my legs and onto the floor below me. As I look down and up I'm regarded with confused and surprised looks all around.

I let out a groan. "Well don't just _stand there,_ DO something!"

* * *

 _ **Hey yeah you... please scroll back up and read this please? C'mon im begging you, and make a little comment or two before you start the blog, just like you did with the other two chapters? Thank you ._.**_

 _ **hausdertoten. blogspot. com**_

 _ **thedewynterdynasty. wordpress. com**_

 _ **theluckyfew. wordpress. com**_

NOTE: The Dewynter Dynasty website is CONSTANTLY updated with Panem news related to my universe, its best to keep it saved. Just for your entertainments sake. I also suggest you check it now for baby news ;), along with the blog. The top link is the blog, the second, my universe site **(** _ **Highly reccomend that you check it out constantly.)**_ and the third link, is the Victors blog, just incase you get bored. If you have recommendations of what to add to my universe blog, go right on ahead and tell me.

Your tributes you are so desperate to look at.

 _ **I** **sla Nieve/Snow Island: Naval, Entertainment.**_

 _ **Male:**_ _Nicolao Lucritis  
_ _ **Female:** Rafaela Novia_

 _ **District One: Luxury.**_

 _ **Male:**_ _Vincent Barlow  
_ _ **Female:** Luana Evison_

 _ **District Two: Military, Masonry.**_

 **Male:** _Merlyn Edian  
_ _ **Female:** Aliyah Marini_

 _ **District Three: Technology.**_

 _ **Male:** Herrick Argent  
_ _ **Female:** Evara Winslett_

 _ **District Four: Fishing.**_

 _ **Male:**_ _Kite Winderley_

 _ **Female:** Skylar Barassi _

_**District Five: Power.**_

 _ **Male:**_ _Occo Barst  
_ _ **Female:** Valentina Noether_

 _ **District Six: Transportation.**_

 _ **Male:** Orville Mullen_  
 _ **Female:** Cveta Moscone_

 _ **District Seven: Lumber.**_

 _**Male:** Tamir Acker_  
 _ **Female:** Landry Danton_

 _ **District Eight: Textiles.**_

 _ **Male:** James "Jem" Pullo_  
 _ **Female:** Adele Havilliard_

 ** _District Nine: Grain._**

 _ **Male:** Mentan Upton_  
 _ **Female:** Rianne Verano_

 ** _District Ten: Livestock._**

 _ **Male:** Tybalt Moranthyfis_  
 _ **Female:** Joelle Castro_

 _ **District Eleven: Agriculture.**_

 _ **Male**_ : _Cian Landon  
_ _ **Female:** Marcia "Cia" Mata_

 **District Twelve: Mining.**

 ** _Male:_ **_Jai Matisse_  
 _ **Female:** Lumina Reiss_

 _ **Congrats to those who were accepted and sorry to those who didn't make it. I was disorganized due to my little getaway to Jamaica...If only I brought my laptop. Anyway, I'm for the most part happy with who I have here and I'm excited to further delve into my little universe here.**_

We're gonna have a blast ;).

 _ **SO PLEASE! Go off on the blog. Give me your full fledged opinions on the tributes! Possible plots, alliances, etc.. Its my first SYOT, so u need to suppports me. Although this SYOT didnt get too too much limelight, I can see my next one doing twice as better.**_

 _ **Welcome to Haus Der Toten, Citzen! Your tributes participation brings forth a more prosperous and united Panem.**_


	4. Pre Reaping Pt One

_**Pre Reaping Part One**_

* * *

 _ **"The Stagy"**_

 _ **Nicolao Lucritis, 14  
Snow Island Male**_

 _ **Submitted By: Author of Ice and Fire**_

* * *

"Look at it all children . . .Take it all in." Prosper muses. The slightly older man with a graying pompadour leans forward on the balcony as he gazes toward Havana's waterfront.

Zoe, Emilia, Anthony, Violeta, Luis and Myself along with a couple other child con artists watch on from a nearby rundown villa, as yet another cruise boat docks at Havana's already congested seaport.

"Take what in? The view? Its a very nice view !" chirps seven year old Zoe, her doe-like eyes beaming upward towards our boss/parental guardian . . . moreso leaning towards the latter.

The older dark-skinned man lets out a loud sigh as he yanks the little girl to his side, shoving a pair of binoculars her way and jutting his finger towards his objects of desire.

"Not the view you dolt, _them_!" his voice booms with glee as he leers at what the rest of us don't need binoculars to see.

Capitolites.

Their fancy wigs, skin and tropical attire light up the boardwalks with a rainbow like hue. Yep! Isla Nieve, self proclaimed District 4's little brother, the Panemian Territory seems to be growing in popularity as the years continue to go by. Almost everyday there seems to be a at least two cruise boats filled with Capitolites from the mainland, gleefully trying to get their slice of the sunshine. Not to mention the plethora of Hoverplanes flying in too.

"Just look at 'em, walking moneybags _waiting_ to be exploited with cheap dance troupes and poor sop stories!" Prosper's face beams with excitement, to our discomfort. The sight of profit makes our estranged 'guardian' gush with anticipation.

Almost _too_ much anticipation.

"Prosper? Happy?! Wha?" snorts twelve year old Luis, causing the other children to giggle among themselves. Prosper notices his out of character gesture and readjusts his no-nonsense demeanor with a thin lipped smile, stopping the giggles cold in their tracks.

"Children . . . I have a good feeling today is going to be a good day, yessir indeed!" with a pep in his step, Prosper begins to gently stroll around the rather large balcony, ruffling heads and patting shoulders along the way. The gestures are funny, yet painfully faux all at the same time. A money hungry go-getter, Prosper Lucritus is one of the many racketeers native to Snow Island's criminal underbelly taking kids like myself, hungry orphans, and transforming them into petty criminal masterminds.

Solely after his own interests ninety percent of the time, Prosper isn't necessarily the sweetest foster parent, or the cruelest . . . he floats somewhere in the middle. He makes sure were fed and that our basic necessities are met. As long as we don't bite the hand that feeds us, there's no problem.

We also keep a small sum of what we rack in, an added bonus. _A well appreciated bonus._

"Alright boys and squirrels! You all know the drill, go make daddy proud. Whoever makes the most bread gets seconds tonight!"

And with that, the balcony erupts with childish laughter and hyper squeals of joy as we begin today's work. With a nod from myself, Zoe, Emilia, Violeta, Anthony and Luis begin our decent into the city of life, only to be cut off with a sharp cough.

"Not so fast you five." jeers Prosper as the eldest of us, Me, Luis and Violeta, slowly turn towards the older man. Since I'm the leader of the group, its only natural I take the blame for our misgivings, as I step closest to Prosper while the others hang back.

"Don't think I forgot about your little ' _blunder_ ' Nic." he sneers, crossing his arms as I send an eyeroll his way. A rival crew stole the show with a guitar and drums demonstration, there was little we could do.

I snicker a little, watching as Prosper's face reddens a little. He took the loss of profit pretty seriously, I didn't. Just get up and try again, it's not that serious, nothing ever is.

Things are only bleak if you make them seem that way.

"A hundred secterces by _tonight._ I mean it Nic." he roughly jostles me by the shoulder, causing me to smirk once more. A part of me braces for a well deserved slap, but instead he sends me on my way with a dismissive wave of the hand.

"Get outta here kid. The money won't steal itself you know."

"Aye aye 'cap'n!" with a sloppy salute, my and my troupe begin the jog out the villa and towards the city. Just before I leave, my eye catches a boy in khaki shorts and a loose fitting shirt. He limps slightly as he stacks one wooden crate over another.

"Hey Emmanuel . . ." I say sheepishly, my slight smile quickly dissolved into a frown as I meet a tanned face tarnished with scars and an eyepatch to top it all off. Emmanuel, Emmanuel, Emmanuel . . . A boy who I consider a role model, he used to lead the acting troupe when I first joined up. Prosper moved him on to drug smuggling, only for him to get caught by the Peacekeepers. Instead of getting a bullet to the head, he was given a public beatdown, mainly because he was a juvenile. He now works as Prospers assistant.

It's great that I can see him more often, although I hate the condition he was left in. He sends a slight nod my way, along with a small smile. Not wanting to rile him up, I continue with my troupe towards the port.

It was a tranquil scene, a lively scene as calm waves cascaded against the port side, the sea itself painted a turquoise hue. The waves, combined with the acoustics of local guitar troupes creates the type of "hustle and bustle" euphoric only native to our Island. Laughter fills the air as locals from all ages earnestly try to sell shell necklaces and the like.

"Did you know that the average Capitolite has an income of over five hundred thousand secterces a year?" chirps Violetta as she adjusts her glasses. She's the brain of the group, and possibly the next person to take over once I age out.

"Oh gee, I didn't know that egghead! Thanks for the quick fact." that was Luis, my mini-me. He also feels the need to fill my shoes once I'm too old and 'not cute' enough to lead this troupe.

"Get bent." Violetta seethes as Luis retorts with a just as heated "Shut up, spaz." in return. The two twelve year olds are often at odds, wanting to be the number two of the group over the other. It often leads to tons of banter.

"Guys, guys!" I mew smoothly, my arms finding themselves locked around their shoulders respectively, I stifle a laugh as the two glare at one another regardless.

"There's no need to fight! We're all on the same side, right?" I drawl as my eyes catch the wallet of an unsuspecting Capitol man, who gazes through a glass counter at the assortment of different pearls and shells. His wallet quickly finds itself in my shorts pocket, all while he's none the wiser.

"So! The same as every other day. Emilia and Antony will go up on that roof over there and act as lookouts while Violetta and I will do the usual. Luis and Zoe will slip in and bag everyone's wallets while they're none the wiser!"

I'm met with stern nods all across the board. "Alrighty. Let's get to it, shall we?"

We snap into place, all of u _s_ assuming our positions without flaw. Watching as Luis and little Zoe blend into the crowd, I watch as Violetta sits on a window ledge, her shorts and camisole now replaced with a white evening gown and her hair hastily brushed. All that's left is yours truly. Hopping into the nearest hedge, I switch into a loose cotton shirt and brown dungarees. With a quick comb through my hair, I smile as all the pieces are set.

It's showtime.

" _O, speak again, bright angel!"_ I hum aloud, slowly emerging out the hedge, earning confused faces as some stop and stare at me as if I had a second head.

" _O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet."_ mews Violetta, earning stares of her own.

My face lights up with glee as I peer further out the hedge, " _Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?"_ I quickly murmur aloud. A crowd as formed, forming a large circle between the hedge where I peer out from, and the balcony Violetta speaks from. Some whisper in awe, quickly putting two and two together. From the corner of my eyes I watch as Zoe and Luis slowly fish out paper bills among other valuables.

" _'Tis but thy name that is my enemy. Thou art myself, though not a Montague."_ Violetta scoffs to herself, as she begins to move towards the right side of the balcony. " _What's Montague? It is nor hand, or foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man._ She scoffs again. " _O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other word would smell as sweet. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, Retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title!"_

She smiles brightly, as I do too. I live for the arts, the theatre! It's one of the only true perks that comes with my profession. I could recite line after line without reading off of a single line of paper.

" _Romeo, doff thy name, and for that name, which is no part of thee Take all myself!"_ she giggles, lying ontop of the balcony as she plays with her hair. I laugh aloud, bursting through the hedge and making my way to the crowd as she fakes surprise.

 _"I take thee at thy word!"_ I shout, watching as Violetta starts to make her way over to myside of the balcony. _"Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized. Henceforth I never will be Romeo!"_ and with that, I climb up the pillar and envelop her in a hug, both of us giggling all the while. The crowd bursts with applause and loud cheers.

They're cheering for _me,_ for _us!_

The smile on my face quickly melts into a frown as some tourists reach into their pockets and purses to find out they no longer have money to give.

Zoe just happened to be in the wrong spot, frozen midway from taking a wallet out from the purse of a Capitol woman with voluptuous breasts. The woman shoves the meek seven year old to the ground, causing Zoe to let out a sharp squeal.

"This _bloody_ brat is trying to pickpocket me! Peacekeepers! Peacekeepers!" she screeches, as a squad of them come running forward. Unlike the standard Peacekeeper you'd see in mainland Panem, men and women clad in white, these soldiers were decked out in green fatigues and field caps, supported by pitch black aviator glasses and brown belts. On their hips are cutlasses, blades once used to harvest sugar canes now harvesting the hands of pickpockets.

It all happens so slowly. Me and Violetta pushing out way through the crowd, just as Luis grabs Zoe. The commotion washes over me like a smothering blanket, onlookers shouting out as Peacekeepers shove their way towards us. Even as we move inwards towards town, they still keep a break neck pace behind us. As we turn the next alley way, we see the silver lining.

And they _don't._

We hop over as they trip up with the wire, set by your friendly neighbourhood Emilia and Anthony. Our residential pranksters known for their twin like cohesion. We celebrate by staying low in the many safehouses Havana has to offer, cheering as we empty out wallets and purses filled with bread.

"Good job out there everyone, especially you two over there." I nod slightly towards our little tricksters.

"What can we say?" drawls Anthony,

"We're good at what we do." finishes Emilia with a high-five between the two.

As the group settles down, I find myself staring out a window, thinking. I technically only have one more year until Prosper takes me out the acting troupe. Why? simply because I'm getting older which equals less appeal. Those who reach fifteen are usually given heavier tasks.

Racketeering . . . smuggling . . . _prostitution._

All of which earns you a bullet to the head if you're caught. It's all dirty business and to be quite honest, a business I _don't_ want any part of. Stealing and having a silver-tongue is good enough, not having to break someone's arm or ransack someones home.

I've grown up all my life with the criminal lifestyle, but it doesn't make me sadistic or remorseless.

"Left, left, left, left, _right, left!"_

I find my eyes switching to the nearby naval base where they train orphans to eventually volunteer for the Games, or become Peacekeepers. Francisco, an acquaintance of mine, just won last year with his girl. Kids, clad the green fatigues and field caps march in unison as a man continues to sing out a series of phrases, in which the children repeat back.

As I watch them do their drills, an idea pops into mind.

A crazy idea that just _might_ work if I pull it off right.

* * *

 ** _"The Collected"_**

 ** _Orville Mullens, 13  
District 6 Male  
_**

 ** _Submitted by: Elim9_**

* * *

The pleasant jingle of four chimes from a xylophone on the schools PA system gains a collective _woop_ from my classmates, excluding myself. Our law teacher, Mrs. Buick, vehemently silences the cheers with a not so subtle whack of her ruler off of her desk.

Although school has never been my strong suit, it beginning or ending evokes no significant emotions out of me.

"Attention, attention students." drones Principal Monroe with his usual, dull monotone. "The 2157-2158 academic year is now over. Thank you for the wonderful school year at Coriolanus Collegiate Institute. Classes resume September. Remember to conduct yourselves for the 95th Hunger Games Reaping next Monday. May the odds be ever in your favor. Enjoy your holiday."

With our hearts crossed over our hearts, we stand for the national anthem which happens to play at the beginning and end of each school day. As the anthem comes to a close, the classroom, along with the entire school erupts with a collective cheer, as the summer holiday has officially begun. So begins trips to the ice cream parlor, dips in Lake Michigan (The non-polluted portions that is) and casual strolls through the District. It's the only chance for Detroit dwellers to escape the Rustbelt and flock to more greener destinations.

Not for this boy, no.

As I pack up my meager belongings and sulk out the classroom, I glare as the other kids babble among themselves, signing yearbooks and talking about potential summer plans. Some talk about going to Grand Rapids for a camping trip, while luckier students talk about a trip to Snow Island. Kids who have rich District and city administrators no doubt.

It's just so _unfair_.

"Hey Orville!"

I swivel my head to the right to reveal that I haven't yet left the general area of my classroom, and that Mrs. Buick just so happens to be locking up for the summer. I acknowledge her presence with a nod, as we begin to walk down the hallway.

"So Orville, what do you have planned for the summer, hmm? The hubby and I are planning to take the kids to the upper peninsula to see some family, maybe get some fishing in! Elias always catches the big ones . . ." she drawls on about her kids and I don't bother to tune back in until my name is mentioned once again.

"So Orville! What about you! Any big plans!?" she gushes, her eyes fluttering as fast as her mouth did just now.

I shrug. "Nothing. Just work."

"Just _work?_ " She frowns as I send a single nod her way.

"Yep." I deadpan, not bothering to hear the rest of the well wishes she sends my way. She means well I know she does, but maybe it's just me who tends to shut people out, with good reason. I assume that if I did open up, she wouldn't want to be bothered with dealing with my problems.

We're in a District _strife_ with issues, who really has time for a single thirteen year old _boy_.

I cross the parking lot now, effortlessly breezing by as the older, rugged kids chat among themselves. Greasers they call them. No one acknowledges me as boys and girls clad in black leather jackets blast Capitol doo-wop from their roadsters and bark out with laughter.

The cars . . . the music. Just five years ago, owning a car, let alone a teen, was a pipe dream. I clench my fists as I continue on towards the plant, if only they knew what they had. I like everyone else, I board the bus that takes me deeper into Detroit's downtown core.

It doesn't take long to reach Factory 001, the automotive plant tasked with creating the Thunderbird's and Bel-Air's everyone seems to be driving around nowadays. Kids like me make up the general workforce for 001, recruited because of our quick and nimble hands being able to service the nooks and crannies other hands cant reach. Hot and compressed, the conditions are less than par, things in 001 are menial, tedious even. It's not uncommon to get burned or shocked as children haphazardly work away on the husks of automobiles. Nonetheless, a job means money, which means food.

And even more, opportunity. An opportunity to make something of myself. Not today, and _surely_ not tomorrow.

But someday. I don't plan on slaving away in here forever. With that thought in mind I smile to myself as I polish off a newly completed 2158 Chevrolet Thunderbird, turquoise paint, extended fins, white-walled tires and all. Apparently the company of this make has been around for hundreds of years, pre Panem. A part of me wonders how these rustic companies manage to stay against the tide of time.

"Hey Orville."

I turn away from my work, only to shake hands with my fellow factory hand, Emerson . . . Only sixteen and thirteen years old respectively, people would expect us to exchange high fives, or a brotherly pat on the shoulder but you see, the relationship between me and Emerson is nothing more of close acquaintances. He's the overseer of this portion of the auto work and I'm just a factory hand under him. He just so happens to be one of the select few who happens to at least acknowledge my presence.

And that is more than enough for me.

"How's your mother, Ike and Solomon doing?" I inquire, scrubbing off the back end of the car as he continues with the front.

"All doing just fine," he moves towards the windshield. "We might head out to Grand Rapids after Reaping Day to visit some folks of ours." he smiles, nodding all the while.

"How's your mother doing by the way?"

I freeze mid-scrub, but he doesn't catch my gesture. _Probably high out of her mind, who knows really._

"She's doing great, thanks for asking." the lie rolls off my tongue like nothing, and we continue on with our work. Somehow, the role of parent and child has switched, leaving me the breadwinner and mother the child. I've thought of leaving home for a community home, or the streets . . . but that'd just complicate things even more unfortunately.

What can I say? It's not uncommon to have a generation of addicts and underachievers in Six. Our issues are _that_ deep rooted. Unfortunately, I and countless others are a result of the feel in this District. Most people would just send a glance your way and expect you to be fully drugged up by age twenty.

About an hour or two into it all, the usually chatty and noise ridden factory floor falls into hushed whispers and mute whirs of tools on metal. The faint sound of heels clicking in the distance and a shrill voice calling out every now and then.

"Emerson _Bates_? Is there an Emerson Bates _present_? Emerson _Bates_!? Where art _thou_?!" a woman, flanked by two rifle-toting Peacekeepers as the factory manager tries to keep up with her brisk pace shrieks as she scans the warehouse.

"I'm Emerson?" Emerson raises his hand.

The woman seeing this perks up as she speed walks towards the car we we're working on. Getting a closer look now, her hair is a butter yellow and her face bubbly supported by blue makeup. her attire screams 'Capitol' but has a more refined look to it. The Peacekeepers, along with the flag and golden eagle pinned to her chest makes me think she belongs to the government.

"Hello there, my name is Patricia Cherrywhite! What a place we have here, I ought to order a _pink_ Thunderbird instead of the generic colours. Nonetheless, that's not why we're here today,"

The woman motions towards a Peacekeeper as he retrieves an envelope from her purse. The other kids crowd around somewhat, but not close enough.

"Mister Bates your aptitude test came through. On behalf of the Ministry of Districts' Affairs and Education, we grant you admission to the University of Panem. Subject? Business Administration. Congratulations! You are indeed a prime example of what a young Panemian should be."

As Patricia shakes the shocked boys hand and promptly leaves, cheers flood the warehouse as Emmanuel is hoisted by the legs and paraded around the factory floor, his face ecstatic and filled with glee.

Yet suddenly, I feel ten times more dissatisfied with myself than I felt before . . .

* * *

 ** _"The Diligent."_**

 ** _Luana Evison, 18_**  
 ** _District 1 Female_**

 ** _Submitted By: Jakey121_**

* * *

" _Awwwwwh,_ look at our babies! Just the other day, we were changing their diapers and now they can kill a target in a hundred ways or _more!"_

Ugh . . . mothers. Have you ever had one of those moments when your Mom is high off of the excitement of your achievements and extremely clingy and starstruck to the point where you just wanna hide away until it all blows over?

Well I feel that almost everyday, it's just _today_ of all days that the feeling is just more evident.

"Come on kids, get a little closer! Sebastian, don't be afraid to get up and personal! Put your hands on her stomach! Okay, Sparkle and Quartz seem to have it. Woah Shirah, Jasper, a little _too_ personal don't you think!? Okay everybody ready?!"

" _Mom,_ take the picture!" I groan, moving into Sebastian's embrace just a little more.

"Okay, okay!" she giggles for a moment as do the other moms, "Say 'Promenade' in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .-"

"Promenade!" we say aloud, followed by the bright flash we all know too well. We've made it this far, twelve years of vigorous learning, slashing, chucking and bleeding . . . and an odd mix of the three, we made it.

 _Prom!_ Sometimes I wonder of the other Districts have the same customs . . . judging by the television, I highly doubt it.

Shirah, my closest confidant since kindergarten pulls me to the side.

"Can you _believe_ this is happening! Forget Career training, forget _cliques!"_ she squeals, smiling wide. _"_ This is going to be _the_ best night of our lives."

I laugh. "It'll be even better if Westenflauss announces the right name. Did your dad book a room at the Gloss and Cashmere Towers?" when you think District 1, those weirdly constructed towers instantly come into mind. Downtown is _the_ place to hangout. Especially with prom night coming soon.

She rolls her eyes. "Of course, Daddy always comes through! _Oh,_ look!"

Decked out with white-walled tires, extended fins, a sleek black paint job and white roof to top it all off, The limousine makes it's approach around the cul-de-sac to the front of my home. It takes less than a second for my nineteen to friends swarm the fancy automobile. Before I could join them, Mom pulls me into a bone crushing hug. For a woman so slender, she has _quite_ the grip.

"Look how far my baby has come, I'm so proud of you darling!" she croaks and from what I can hear, she's sniffling too. As much as I want to wriggle out of her grasp, Mom means well. She may be clingy, a little too emotional, but she genuine about it. I wouldn't be who I was today without her upbringing.

I find myself returning the hug with twice the amount of force.

"Come on Aviella," Dad sighs, "Luana has a long night ahead of her.".

Mom listens, releasing me only to find my left hand clasped in between Sebastian's warm ones.

"Good luck Luana, I hope you receive the nomination you seek." says Dad, "And you!" he points towards Seb, "No monkey business."

"I'll have her back soon Mr. Evison!" Seb teases with a wink, leading me into the car and sitting me down beside Shirah and her boyfriend Jasper, who've already proceeded with a game of backseat bingo. With three honks as we wave to our parents, we're off. As I glance across the twenty seat limousine, I see smiles and content faces everywhere, light music filling the air . . . Shirah locking lips with Jasper . . . It's what I like to see - the community part that is, not the sloppy kissing.

"I wonder who secured the nominations?" Sebastian asked aloud, idly playing with the curls of my hair. "The males haven't been getting enough chatter."

"I know who the female might be." muses Sparkle, dark skinned President of the Glamazon sorority. I blush as she points in my direction, earning teasing from everyone else and a kiss on the cheek from Seb. "She was awarded the leadership award this year, who else would it be?"

"What about Bubbles O'shea? From the yellow ladies?" Muses Quartz, Sparkles' boyfriend. In remembrance of something he snaps his finger at another friend of mine, Peridot.

"Hey Peridot you were with her, whadd'ya think?"

"That bimbo?" Peridot scoffs, "She's as fast as they come, only good for _one_ thing." the inappropriate movement with his left arm causes the limo to burst with laughter.

It's true - well, what Sparkle had said. I made top percentile in the school-wide leadership program. I take great pride in exerting leadership quality, making the best out of myself and others is why I'm here. It's why I'm not in a regular public school leading a boring, simple life.

"Anyway, back to the _possible_ nominee . . . Are you sure you're even ready in the event you're chosen?" asks Seb, genuinely concerned.

I scoff slightly, "Of course, why wouldn't I be?!" I snap, although I wouldn't say rudely but almost. Seb almost seems shocked, but I lower the tension with a smile and a peck on the cheek.

I don't need doubt in my life, not _now_. I don't need criticism to cloud my judgement when I'm as sure as I can be.

Shirah finally removes her lips from Jasper's face, pulling out a bottle of Capitol Club rum from her breasts earning laughter from the rest of the car.

"Really?" I deadpan.

"Wh _aaaaa_ t?" she smiles sheepishly, "The teachers will be carding and we'll be in there for a couple hours! So, who's ready for a little pregaming, _hmmmmmmm_?"

The limo erupts with cheers.

Half an hour later and a few swigs from the bottle, we reach LaGuardia academy. Apparently the biggest school outside the Capitol, this place compares to that of a palace compared to some of the other schools I see on television. The ceremonial hall is decked up with bright blues, pinks and yellows as per the ' _midsummer's night dream_ ' theme the seniors agreed on. The Victors alongside the faculty occupy an 'upstairs' like portion while the students occupy the lower level tables. The elders, Cessna, Kaiser and Serene seem to be conversing over coffee while Glisten and Zenira covertly pass a flask among themselves. Even here, the fraternity and sorority wars continue to rage on. Although _'clique representation'_ is forbidden at school events, I see many subtle hints. Pink butterfly brooches for the Glamazons, Golden eagle pins for the Gammas, among other symbols for numerous other cliques.

The night is mostly a blur to me. The group photos, breaking the ice . . . everything. Yeah, the peppered steak and ice cream crepes tasted amazing but that's not really why the majority of us are here.

"Luana, you look tense, Is everything alright?"

"Hmm?" we're dancing now, Sebastian and I. The lights are dimmed and light Doo-Wop fills the air as some of us already took to the dance floor.

" _Earth angel, earth angel, will you be mine . . ._ " the lead band member drawls from his microphone as boys feeling gutsy enough stroll over to their respected female and ask for a dance, while those without a date continue to linger on the left and right, male and female sides of the hall respectively. Looking over Seb's shoulder, I find Shirah in the arms of Jasper. Once she catches my eyes, I giggle as she makes inappropriate gestures with her hands.

"I said, are you alright?" he smiles that smile of his, toothless yet still dashing enough to bring fire to my cheeks.

"Of course Seb! I just wish they would stop dillydallying and get this over with." I scoff, scowling at the Victors who seem to be making their way over to the stage. Sebastian's face falters for a moment, and his eyes no longer meet mine.

"Seb, what's wrong?" I lift his chin in order for his eyes to rest back on mine.

"I-I-It's just . . ." he takes a labored breath, his eyes drifting away again. I tap his cheek, causing him to glance back up again.

"Seb, you can tel-"

"Are you really serious about volunteering for this?" he blurts out.

I stop dancing, effectively freezing both of us in the middle of the dance floor, my fingers gripping into his forearms. We pick up again as a few eyes glance our way. Don't want to attract too much attention.

"Why do you _keep saying that!"_ I seethe through my teeth, keeping my voice low enough for our ears only. The constant belittling of my skills doesn't do well for me.

He groans, "For all we know, we have five more years of Hunger Games . . .Of course they'll up the ante to Quell like proportions. Are you _sure_ you're up for that?"

My response is a hug and a kiss.

"For the last time Sebastian, _I can do this_! Your constant lack of faith is really degrading my buzz. You're my _boyfriend,_ support _me_ on this." I gaze into his eyes as he lets out another sigh, shooting me another uneasy smile.

"Of course Luana, you weren't voted for the leadership award for _nothing_ you know."

As he kisses my forehead we turn towards the stage, giving applause as the band makes their way down, replaced by Serene Westenflaus, Victor of the 67th and current Mayor. Clad in a blue and gold pantsuit, she reeks of control as she quickly raps her cutlery against her glass, effectively gaining the attention of the entire room. A coolly and stoic figure, Serene is revered as a goddess among cadets and citizens alike. The status of District Mayor and Pre-Mockingjay Victor launched her to the pinnacle of popularity.

"Good evening, trainees of LaGuardia academy. How are we this evening?" Serene purrs.

She's met thunderous cheers all around, she cackles in response.

"I'm glad you're enjoying our 48th annual Promenade. For eighty five years, LaGuardia academy has been striving to provide the best of the best, the brightest of the bright. Our aim for nothing but the finest has brought us many a Victory, as well as some close endeavors," A holo screen appears center stage, "Please, join me in yet another tribute to our fallen warriors.".

In unison, heads bow as the national anthem begins to play and countless dozens of faces fade in and out. It's hard to believe that out of the two thousand nine-hundred people that died in the Games, only less two hundred hail from District 1.

At last, the projector of the fallen is replaced by Serene taking the front podium again.

"Even in death, the fallen serve a purpose. A common purpose a more prosperous and united Panem. Thank for once again for paying your respects. Now we move on to this years tributes."

Everyone's ears perk up at this now. Wordlessly, countless kids form a tight square. The room is dead silent as Kaiser removes two envelopes from his suit jacket pocket, smirking as he hands them toward Serene, only to take them back again, causing a few sparks of laughter here and there.

But not from me.

"A tribute must serve with their District - no, their _country -_ in their best interest. A _Career_ must serve with break-neck diligence, not self absorbed blindness," Ms. Westenflaus removes a slip from one of the envelopes, and it appears that it wasn't only me who took in a sharp breath of anticipation.

"Which is why we chose _Luana Evison_ as female representative for District 1."

 _Huh?_

The cheers almost render me deaf, as I'm pulled into multiple hugs and haphazardly shoved towards the stage. I'm met with envious glares, smirks and giant grins all around. My feet feel more like jelly than muscle and bone, and my chest feels ten times as warm as it did before the announcement. From the corners of my eyes I can already see multiple girls fleeing towards the restroom.

As I bound the stage, bow towards the Victors and receive my medallion and golden plaque, I can't help but grin all the while. Shirah, Jasper and the crew send a thumbs up my way, while Seb regards me with a curt nod and smile.

 _There's nothing to worry about Seb, I haven't been more ready in my life._

I nod back. Eighteen years of blood, sweat and tears has brought me this far. Just a little bit more and those years would've paid off tenfold.

As Snow as my witness, I _won't_ be one of those two hundred.

* * *

 _ **"The Peculiar."**_

 _ **Jai Matisse, 18**_  
 _ **District 12 Male**_

 _ **Submitted By: Jalen-Kun**_

* * *

A Hunger Game recap plays on the projectors on the right hand side of the cave wall. It's the 94th, the alps arena with the dual Victors. The cameras focus on the pair from District 7, as they eat a meal over a campfire. They had to be at least sixteen years old tops.

Little did they know, the pair from Snow Island was watching from the trees overhead, waiting for the perfect time to strike. The boy, Francisco, leaps from his branch onto the back of Seven's male and proceeds to stab him all the while as Seven's female flees the scene. The boy's wails for her to return are quickly squelched by the blood pouring out of his throat, his hands outstretched towards her fleeing form.

 _"ELENA, ELENA! Please don't leave me! Don't go!" the group of Careers toss the small boy into a circle as his ally escapes the ambush. As they tear into him, the last thing he sees is a glimpse of her sorry face as a knife to the heart seals the deal._

I shudder to myself. Today _isn't_ a good day.

"Hey Matisse, you 'feelin good?" inquires Mara, a community home brat who just so happens to be one of my many friends within this tiny District of ours. Beside her is Sims, a slightly older dark skinned gentleman we happen to be acquainted with.

 _Nope, never have, never will be..._

I shoot her my signature goofy glance. "I'm fine Mara, thanks for asking."

"You sure boy?" Sims is talking now. "I think the boy has shell-shock, mhm, _yesirree!_ The mines can do some 'sum godawful stuff, I tell ya."

"Oh shut up Sims, you always blabberin' 'bout somthin'! Miners cough this, black plague _that_!" she spits, causing the older man to grumble to himself as he picks away at his wall.

"I _swear_ guys! I'm alright, just watching _you know what_ can be taxing stuff." I smirk.

Mara isn't buying it. "Whatever you say Matisse. Jus' a few more minutes now, and we'll be right on outta 'ere."

I nod as I look upwards toward the screen. Myself, along with the other miners, shake our heads in disdain as the Snow Island pair finish off the female with a knife across her throat. The screen switches to roaring applause as Hunger Games host Marceline Delafontaine appears.

"Good Afternoon Panem! Today is Friday June 15th, 2158! School is out, the sun is bright, the weather is _A-OK_ which means it's _Hunger Games_ season!"

Even more applause from the studio audience. It takes every fiber of of my being to not launch a piece of stone at the projector.

"This Reaping Day, June 18th, tune in 6PM Capitol Time and watch with me and a panel of Hunger Games junkies as we decipher this years roster of tributes. It'll be a blast!"

As she winks, the projector is shut off and the main floodlights flicker back to life again. A klaxon horn blows to signal the workday as over.

"Alright ladies and gentleman, time to pack up for the day y'hear?!" the foreman yells.

With that, the shaft comes alive with the strained groans and grumbles of of men and women alike. After pushing my cart full of coal to Zone B and washing my hands clear of the soot and dust that happens to be omnipresent, Sims, Mara, the rest of those on duty and I prepare board the elevator up.

Before I board the elevator, I exchange hi-fives with Aspen and Xavier, fellow classmates and co-workers.

I turn my head towards Aspen as he taps my shoulder. "So, I hear we'll finally get more than a days worth o' electricity."

I scoff, the east end of the District will forever face the brunt of the blame for the war twenty years ago. "Oh yeah, says who?"

"Says my Ma. Hunger Games season, 'member?"

"Man, fuck that." Xavier's decided to hop in. "I'm goin' to the north end, Monica's has it endlessly."

We enter the elevator, watching as an attendant shuts the mesh door and preps the lift.

"I thought her Ma don't allow no 'Seam trash' into 'er house?" prods Aspen.

Xavier smirks. "What her Mama don't know won't kill'er."

The elevator groans to life, rumbling the lift a little. "Welp, back to civilization." I jeer, causing lighthearted chuckles all around.

That's what I like about Twelve, the familiar faces, the camaraderie. As much as I'd love to live in Helena, District 1 or Monterrey, District 4, I wouldn't this District for the world.

About five minutes into the ten minute hoist, the noise of the mechanical whir of the lift becomes more and more present. That, and the concrete walls that keep rising _up_ and _up!_

 _The stockyard . . ._

As I look to my left and right, seeking out some form of comfort, I realize its only me in the lift. I try to move, squirm, flail _ANYTHING,_ but to no use as I stay firmly planted to the ground.

"Let me out of _HERE!"_ I lunge towards the mesh gates, screaming as I feel their hands gripping me in place. I groan, constantly squirming and kicking.

 _Their hands, no escape. Desperately trying and trying only to no avail._

Suddenly, I fall flat on my face. Groaning, I twist around only to find the eyes of my co-workers fixated on me. The late afternoon sun beats down on us, and I find myself ten feet away from the shaft entrance. As I shakily stand to my feet, they slowly saunter towards me, some offering me help or regarding me with caution.

"Told ya' it was shell-shock, _m mm mmm,_ lordy lordy."

Mara is the first to help me up. Her freckle-caked face coated with soot. "Snow's rose . . . are you _sure_ you don't need help?"

I gotta get outta here, I need _space._

I nod quickly, loosening my grip as dart down the hill into the seam. Panting, I continue my sprint past the lower class homes, ignoring the 'hi's' and 'hello's' until I reach my front door, toppling over shoes and racks only for Mom to be right there.

"Again?" she mews softly.

I nod, frowning as she embraces me, but it does nothing as I still feel agitated, _under attack._

"If I could do anything to make you at ease I would, you know that right?" she soothes. I blink. Of course, Ma has been here for me since day one, trying desperately to soothe me.

Unlike some people.

"He's acting up again?" Pop peers his head from over his newspaper in the den, wooden pipe in mouth. "Boy, what did I tell you about dwelling on the negative!? He won't even tell us the damn problem!"

" _William!"_ Ma shoots, launching a stern glare his way. Her face soothes as she glances my way. "He didn't mean that Ja-"

"No," I cut her off with a wave of the hand, "He's _right."_ I stumble out of the house, ignoring Ma's pleas for me to come back. I'm in town now, keeping my head low, Ignoring the glares of the Merchants as I venture through their quarter. I must of not seen her as I bump into a girl around my age.

I recognize her as Lumina Reiss from the upper class north end of the District, her, her boyfriend and her female friend. Government officials, company managers, a single Victor, the north end is higher than the merchants, yet both classes still co-exist. Her nose is so high she could drown in a storm.

" _Ugh._ I'm sorry, I don't have any loose change - oh, it's _you._ I wonder what a piece Seam trash is doing over here on this end of the city." her uncanny accent and them laughing along gives me more than enough fuel to launch a wad of spit in their faces, but I digress.

I wasn't having it either way.

" _Fuck_ you Reiss," I shove past them, swiveling around as I hear Lumina shriek. Her, along with her friends glare at me in shock as she's helped off the floor.

Why can't I be _normal!_ Why cam't I just _relax!_

 _"_ I'm sorry." I mutter, speed walking into the nearest alleyway. I need something to do, something to clear _my head!_

Picking up the nearest wooden crate, I smash it against the nearest wall. I take another crate, stomping it underneath my feet. I take the remaining fragments and toss them in all directions, slumping against the nearest wall.

. . .What the hell am I doing? Look at me, destroying peoples boxes and for _what?_

After a while of reflection, through my foggy eyes I see a figure near the opening of the alleyway. She appears to be holding groceries of some sort. She's Seam by the looks of her, judging by her darker skin tone and dark brown hair.

 _Ainsley Tisdayle._ I've had her in numerous classes since Year 9 onward. She's great if you get to know her one on one. _Really_ great. Everything from her wavy hair, her smokey grey eyes to her pink lips. We don't give her enough credit.

"Hey Jai." she murmurs, moving her bangs from her left eye.

"H-hey Ainsley." I send her a lopsided smirk, "I-I-I can expla-" he puts a finger to my lips, and I accept her hand as she tugs me upward.

"It's alright. Sometimes we all need to let it all out." I sigh as she leads me out the alley, " _Gee,_ and I thought I was weird. What was that all about anyway?"

I pause, struggling to find the words to explain myself. Instead, I opt to send a casual smirk her way.

" . . .Parents."

"Oh . . ."

We end up spending five minutes just standing, Ainsley constantly playing with her hair as I lazily twirl in place. I usually have more to say but Ainsley is usually the one I have trouble knocking up conversation with. We eventually talk about what she'll do in the Capitol when it comes for her to mentor on Monday, along with school and other things, only to lull back in a quiet state again.

She smiles sheepishly. "So . . ."

I smile, my eyebrows cocked up. "So?"

"Say, would you like to come back to Victors Village? Beef stew on me? I never knew my parents, but when I was at the Community Home and things were tough with my foster sisters, stew did it for me."

I laugh, slinking her bags through my hands as we proceed north. "That sounds great.".

And just like that, my anxieties were gone.

* * *

 _ **"The Canny."**_

 _ **Rianne Verano, 16**_  
 _ **District 9 Female.**_

 _ **Submitted By: Tear That Cherry Out**_

* * *

"Rianne, you coming?!" my brother, Connor, yells from downstairs as I fumble with my blouse.

"Yep, one second!" I call out, fumbling with my teal skirt then quickly switching towards the birds nest that I call my hair, brushing it until I find it satisfactory enough to go out side with. Once I deem my overall appearance worthy I find myself sliding down the upstairs banister, towards the ground floor.

Papa sits in the recliner, cigar in hand as the radio blares on about national news beside him. Ma is in her usual position, facing the stove, tending over a boiling pot. If you look just about anywhere, the wooden walls are decorated with achievements and photographs. Some happen to date back generations.

"Where'd Connor head off too Pa?"

"Connor just slipped out." he smirks at me.

I stride over to the shoe rack, slipping on a pair of black flats, "How about Liz and Devyn?" my thirteen and eleven year old siblings respectively.

"They should be back from school any moment now." Ma adds in, her eyes never leaving the work in front of her. I'm about to leave the house for good until she calls after me again, "Oh, and Rianne, do you mind picking some berries for tonight's Salad?"

"Sure thing Ma!" I pull the door in behind me, taking in a deep breath as I sigh in content. My nose is instantly filled with a mixture of Sage and Peppermint. Not even five seconds out the door and nature is already begging for me to explore it once again.

The blare from Connor's horn in his pickup is enough to rouse me from my aroma induced bliss. Connor's teal and white pickup truck splutters to life as I stride over to the flatbed compartment in the back, where my twenty and eighteen year old sister Alisa and Calia are situated.

"Hey Mother Nature." coos Alisa, earning a snicker from Calia and a flick to the forehead by me as I shimmy my way onto the flatbed.

"Shut up, Alisa."

"How long does it take to get dressed?" says Connor from the drivers seat.

"W _elllll_ Connor," I drawl, earning giggles from my sisters. "When you get circled by a woman one day, you'll realize how important it is for a fox to look her best."

Before he could respond, I close the back window causing my two elder siblings to burst out with laughter. With a hard knock on the roof, Connor speeds off, leaving me to look on as our simple wooden cottage fades into the distance. Our cottage is one of the many government sanctioned homes located outside of the major cities within Nine.

As the wind gently blows against my face, myself laughing after Alisa after she pokes fun at Calia's current boyfriend, I couldn't imagine living in Bismarck or Fargo. The trees, my family and the wide open spaces are the only thing I need.

Wait - are those things _really_ all that I need? Of course there's more to life than just the forest. Of course there's more to life than finding a sweetheart, having numerous kids and growing old together. Yeah the typical Nine lifestyle is as calm as they come, but there has to be something _more._

Sometimes I dream of being a hero, a _helper._ I dream of being something better than just the same old, same old.

Call me a dreamer, but a little optimism wouldn't hurt anyone . . . right?

Calia pouts as Alisa sends yet another jeer her way, to my amusement. "Why am I always the center of ridicule here? Where's _your_ boyfriend Alisa?"

She rolls her eyes, ruffing Calia's hair only for her to shoo her hands away. "Because you love it anyway . . . I don't need a boyfriend. Me, myself and I can suffice just fine."

We stop at an empty grain field/ lake area. If you look closely, a processing plant can be seen not too faraway from where we stopped. Right in front of us is a old dock out looking a decent sized lake. The deep blue hue of the water contrasts with the shimmering gold of the wheat that surrounds us. They don't call us "The Breadbasket of Panem" for nothing.

So we get to work, collecting the fruits and herbs we needed. The herb and berry collecting was all on me, as I know the ins and outs like the back of my hand. It comes with the meager yet simple lifestyle I guess, rifling through different berries and shrubs, dividing the poisonous from the edible. I see no problem with it, things like this I absorb like _that._

The sound of a twig snapping against pressure is enough to shake me out of thought.

A doe, as big as a wheel on Connor's pick up, rears it's head towards me, it's ears hitched. For a moment, my hazel eyes lock with it's black ones. With some berries in my palm outstretched towards the young buck, it takes less than a second for the doe to be eating out of my palm.

 _A_ helper. It's a small gesture, but at least we're getting somewhere.

 _"_ Hey Rianne, c'mere!"

Before I could turn my head, the doe was gone. Sighing, I slip into the passenger seat as my other three siblings listen intently to the radio.

" _Attention citizens of District 9. Those who live westward of the Duluth Metropolitan Area, past the city of Brookings are required to make their way to Bismarck for processing and transportation to the Duluth area for Reaping Day Monday, 6PM Central Mainland Time."_

"I forgot," I say, glancing at Calia. "This is your last year right?"

She nods sadly. "Mhm, I got a good feeling Rye's planning something special. Next year it'll be Connor's while you, Devyn and Liz continue to hold out..."

The truck becomes silent after that. The Games are a touchy subject for everybody, although the general feeling in District 9 is that of a ' _you gotta do what you gotta do'_ mantra. We don't even have a Victor, the eldest passing away two years ago. That's how lax we've seem to have fallen.

I frown. "Even though there's thousands of kids like us out here, the stakes are frightening. _Snow . . ._ even the Escort is cracking under the pressure of no one to mentor us."

"Even so,"

Our heads turn toward Connor, who continues to stare straight ahead. "But regardless of what happens this Monday I believe in you. I believe in you Devyn and Liz. Mom, Pop, Calia and Alisa also believe in you just as much as you guys would believe in me if I were reaped." he laughs a little bit. "It's a family thing, we put our minds forward to what we want to achieve,"

He taps my upper chest. "You better than anyone." he folds his hands. "Even though we're in a District with almost two million people, and the chance that _you know what_ happens, I believe in you."

I smile, glancing at each of my siblings as the mood in the truck seems to have lightened up just a bit more.

We aren't the most perfect family, far from perfect. Yeah we have our scuffles like anyone else but when push comes to shove we're there to support one another. After this talk, Monday doesn't seem as nerve wracking anymore.

Because if they believe in me, what else do I possibly need?

* * *

 _ **thedewynterdynasty. wordpress. com**_

 ** _Be an active citizen! Check the universe blog for all the latest in Panem news, potential easter eggs and more! The site is regularly worked on. It would be well appreciated to make out a sentence about a potential news story in a review when the time comes._**

 _ **Note:**_... I believe that's it.

I hope I did each of your tributes justice. Next time I'll be sure to empathize longer histories, especially when it comes to what our unlucky few do outside of the arena. I hope that my pre-reaping system was a breath of fresh air content wise!

I'm constantly working on future Pre-Capitol chapters, so don't expect a long wait as I'm in love with my Victors.

When it comes to reviewing this. It'll be highly appreciated... I think you already know what to do on that front.

Thank you for reading this.

. . .up next, part two of this. Then two reapings which will be told by our lovely mentors. (Which is being worked on as we speak, so don't you worry.)


	5. Pre Reaping Pt Two

_**Pre Reaping Pt Two**_

* * *

 _ **"The Stout."**_

 _ **Aliyah Marini, 18  
District 2 Female.  
**_

 _ **Submitted By: Lokithisismadness**_

* * *

Thirteen years of grueling exercises and relentless drill instructors has led to this exact moment. Regardless of the countless times I've wanted to shove my fist down the throats of these instructors and many other cadets I can't name, I gotta say, this moment is pretty bittersweet.

For _I_ have been selected as female tribute for the upcoming Hunger Game.

I stand at parade rest, rigid and firm. My white uniform crisp to perfection, my peaked cap not askew and my black heels sparkling with perfection. Looking to my left stands a boy I'm not quite familiar with. " _M. Edian"_ his name tag reads. I've seen him around, just sitting, observing.

Maybe like myself, he is just looking out for his own interests. If one thing is for true, he seems like the type of guy to just go with the flow, if so, he and I are not too different. It's a dog eat dog world here in District 2, play your best poker face and you'll get along just fine.

Edian and I stand on an elevated platform, meeting the stoic gazes our fellow cadets cast at us on the field below. Hundreds of youth, from ages five to early twenties stand in thirty tightly packed formations, each belonging to a squad. My eyes land on a particular formation, a group of children no older than eleven. It almost pains me to see them standing here, standing among everyone else as if they're fully grown adults.

Snow knows that they've shared the same hardships as anyone else. Suicide or simply " _washing-out_ " of our Career program isn't uncommon here. I guess some can't take the heat.

Zenobia Rivendell, headmistress of Corbulo Academy strides towards the microphone, I snide smirk playing on her lips.

"Panem et Circenses." she breathes.

"Facta non verba, give it your all and nothing but your all throughout any and all endeavors!" the entire field hollers back.

She smirks even more. "At ease cadets." the sounds of shuffling envelop the field as our hands move from the base of our spines to our sides.

"For nearly a hundred years, District 2 has shown undying loyalty towards the Capitol and country. We have racked in more Victors than any other District and won the first three Hunger Games back to back." I glance back towards two of the three first ever Victors, Germanicus and Berglind. It's amazing how stoic and composed they seem to be regardless of their ancient ages.

"It has been 95 years since the end of the First Rebellion, and twenty since the end of the Mockingjay, yet we continue on with our diligence and hard work towards a united Panem.".

She removes two medallions from a glass case, the sacrifice medallion awarded to District 2 tributes, pining them on our chests.

"Cadet Edian, Cadet Marini, we salute you for the endeavor you two are about to embark on. Regardless of victory or death, you serve a purpose, keeping our country's framework strong and for that we thank you.

A senior instructor calls for an attention, prompting everyone to snap back into parade rest as the anthem blares through loudspeakers. All the living Victors proceed to shake my hand and offer their congratulations, Cassius, Germanicus, Griffin, Nero. Berglind offers me a steel gaze as she shakes my hand, confusing me as Zenobia clasps her hands in mine and pulls me forward.

"Choosing you above the rest was no easy decision, let that be said now." she glances around and leans in further. "To be quite frank, you're as fake as a Capitol brand watch you'd find in a market downtown, but that's good don't get me wrong! We need people who know how to play the game and that person is you. I look forward to working together."

I scoff. "You're lucky I want this spot or I'd act out on those words.".

I can care less about how she thinks I should run my life. She's no angel, as is anyone else in this country that promotes bloodshed on a yearly basis . . . not that I have an issue with that.

The only one who can save me, is me. If anything, she is just a minor aid in what I'm about to delve into.

We let out a giggle, sighing as her hands clasp around mine. Both of us smile wide as the local news captures the moment with a photo. If it were totally up to me, she'd get a knife in her throat.

As I am no longer needed I quickly bound down the stage, getting an armful of Sonya. Her arms cradled around my neck, she plants a kiss on my lips regardless of the countless stares we receive. I couldn't give a shit if they found offence to us or not, let alone in or outside the academy walls. For the good of their health and well-being, people who do keep a good distance.

She purrs. "Look at you babe, District 2 female volunteer."

I let out a cackle, shrugging off my dress jacket and leaving me in a black tank top. The peaked cap follows suit, leaving my hair somewhat ruffled. Sonya hands me my leather jacket, in which I zip up halfway. "I'll be _more_ than just a volunteer in a week or two." I peck her cheek.

Eliana, a close friend of both of ours joins us in our walk. "I can see it now . . . "Aliyah Marini, Victor of the Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games. I dig that."

I smirk. "You'd better love it. I'd hope to Snow that the other tributes are prepared, for their sake, not mine."

The three of us laugh now, loud enough to disrupt the courtyard we were now entering. Upon seeing me, the enclosed space lights up with whispers. Ignoring them I stare ahead at my brother Jaime, cigarette already lit up and all, who beckons us forward.

The three of us, being the jokers we are, blow kisses and make faux acceptances of the hushed whispers before posting up against the stone wall of our academy. One by one, Jaime hands us a cigarette and being the gentleman that he is, lights us up. I took my first puff with him and Sonya when I was fifteen, never stopped since. We're silent for a minute or two, taking in the smoke before I burst out in laughter again.

Jaime smirks. "What's so funny little sis?"

"Aren't you done with the academy stuff now, why are you here? I thought you said you never wanted to set foot on this campus again." I raise my eyebrow.

He scoffs. "I was here for the ceremony, just in the far back. To answer your second question, why not? Memory lane . . . it wasn't all bad times here at Corbulo Academy."

"It's been only a few months, a year even."

" . . .Shut up."

We all burst out laughing now, talking about the happenings of the past year and possible summer plans. Sonya and Eliana decide to screw around with some of the more meeker and younger academy boys by flirting, and I join in too. Because why not?

When it comes to the end of the day people aren't good of nature, neither am I. Life is like a game of 'Dee Ten Hold 'em', it's all about how you play your hand to achieve the outcome you desire.

Jaime takes a drag, exhaling through his nose. "By the way, Mom and Pop want you back home by tomorrow." I turn his way, raising an eyebrow as he smirks. "Meryn will be there too. Something about celebrating before you volunteer on Monday."

I scoff. " _Humph._ Don't hold any communication with me for four _blasted months_ and now they want me back hm?" Father never really was supportive of me, he was the one who signed me up for all this. A small, but mongering being, he's the type of person to instill fear in you. At least Mom was a bit supportive of me and my interests, reading, before I was shipped off to train.

"Forget about them babe." Sonya purrs. "Once you win, you won't have to see their faces again.".

My lips twitch into a small smile. If It were totally up to me, I wouldn't bother go to see them again, those four months were probably the best I've had. It's nice to have a little breathing room, and me winning will grant me that.

Jaime points. "Hey, look who it is. The unlucky male."

We follow his finger towards my male counterpart. Smiling, Edian politely nods towards who I think is his father before moving inward for a hug, with what appears to be his mother and two academy friends flanking either side.

"A family person, eh?" I can't say I'm not. "Hey Edian!"

The whole of them turn our direction, watching as I point to my partner and beckon him over. He mutters something toward his parents, before strolling over our way. A stocky boy, but not as tall as me, my male counterpart seems to be much more humble and meek than much of the other cadets that roam this campus.

"May I help you?" he says flatly.

"What? I can't meet my potential partner before the big day, Edian?" I muse, earning smirks from Sonya and the like.

His persona stays the same, frank and to the point. "It's _Merlyn._ Get it right next time."

The smirks turn to snickers. Ah, reminds me of my older brother and newly-minted Peacekeeper _Meryn_. "Right . . . _Merlyn._ Me and my friends here were just talking about how good my official title sounded after I win in a couple of weeks."

He remains unfazed by my remarks, aside from the smirk that forms on the right hand side of his lip. "I've seen you before." he pokes my chest. "And I know _exactly_ what you're about." his mother calls after him. "I'll see you on Monday, _Marini._ Nice talking to you."

With that, he's gone. I scoff, taking in another drag as my friends guffaw with laughter. He's nothing but a creep, a recluse. Unworthy of the title of 'Victor', but he still has his merits. Regardless, I'm not going to be the one returning in a flag draped coffin. I have too much going on for me at the moment. A girlfriend who loves me, a brother who supports me and a good friend, Eliana, who does just the same. There's nothing I wouldn't do to get back.

 _Nothing._

* * *

 _ **"The Ambitious."**_

 _ **Skylar Barassi, 17**_  
 _ **District 4 Female**_

 _ **Submitted By: JGrayzz**_

* * *

District 4 and me have a love-hate relationship.

Yeah, sunshine 24/7 is awesome and catching a wave or two everyday after school is like- _the best_ thing, but living in Monterrey, the _west end_ of the District's capital is more or less a nightmare in itself. Dealing with hyper-lethal Peacekeepers, some kid getting beaten or stabbed every other day and enduring the goofy sexual advances of greased up, leather-jacket-wearing goons is one thing.

But dealing with Milani Barassi _every single day_ is another.

" _HEY!_ You shut your trap, I ain't bugging you!" she yells, glaring a one of the girls from my public school, a Latina, as she calls for us to keep it down. Apparently she can't hear the music that plays on the jukebox in the middle of the dining room floor. I groan, deciding to let the overall environment cheer me up a little.

Atomic Diner, aside from the ocean obviously, is my favorite location within the entire District. The seats are glossed in a red tint, as the walls are painted with a light teal that gives the room a little bit more _pop._ To compliment it all is the gulf just outside the window, too bad everyday has to be _yet_ another conflict, or else I would enjoy my favourite spot just a little more.

I glare at Milani as she continues her shouting match with the other girl three seats down from us. "Milani _seriously?_ Can you just relax, you'll get all the conflict you want in a week or two." I take a quick sip of my malt as she turns my way.

She slips out of out booth and starts to make her way towards the other girls table. "I ain't backin' down tuts! If she wants a fight I'll give her one."

"Mi-"

Before I could dart out of the booth, the girls milkshake finds itself all over her blouse, tainting it a dark brown.

Milani is a volatile person, what can I say? Kids from school gather around like flies to a bright light, cheering, laughing . . . and for the elite of the elite, _recording_ the whole affair on their mobile phones although this is few and far between. The girl, not belonging to the academy, throws a sloppy punch to which my violent cousin just simply grabs the other girls fist mid-throw and drags her down to the floor, both of them squealing as they tug on each others hair and exchange all the curse words under the sun with one another.

If it were totally up to me, I'd leave her to the Peacekeepers who have zero tolerance for _'public roughhousing'_ but instead -

"Skylar, hey Skylar! What the hell are you doing, _let me go!"_

Milani shrieks as I tug her by the arm like a disobedient child and drag her along towards my father's spare roadster, earning stares from everybody within viewing range. With a grunt, she wriggles out of my grasp as I hold my hands up in defence.

"What the _hell_ Skylar! What, were your heels on fire or something?! I had her where I wanted her!" she huffs as her hands shoot up in every possible angle out there. I roll my eyes as a squad of Peacekeepers turn in our general direction, whispering and laughing among one another.

I roll my eyes. "What, do you wanna get flogged in front of a crowd? This is like, what - your _sixth fight_ this month?"

"Why do you gotta be such a cube?" Milani folds her arms in a huff.

I raise an eyebrow. "Excuse me for trying to look out for my cousin . . ."

She scoffs. " _Please_ , I can handle myself. I don't need a moderator y'know." we slip into the convertible and watch as she fumbles for the keys, only to glare as she eyes them hanging off my finger. " _Gimme_ those.". She turns the ignition and we're off. While speed down the esplanade, my eyes stay fixed on the miles upon miles of shoreline. The teal colour, the nearly white sandbanks, it's probably one of the only things I genuinely like about this District.

I must of dozed off because the next thing I know we're pulling up into our driveway. Although the west end of the city is clean looking in appearance, valley-side homes overlooking the gulf and whatnot, the social aspect is what gives this sector of the city a bad name. The overall craziness and how some of these folks carry themselves makes want to pack up and leave. To where? I don't know.

It's better than living with parents who don't give a hoot about you and a cousin that thrives off of conflict.

Using her hips, Milani gives the door a not so subtle push as it flies open. "Uncle Joel, Auntie Andrea, we're _hoooooooooome_!"

My parents heads simultaneously peer from the kitchen entrance, smiling warmly at my rowdy cousin as she rushes into the room and envelops them with a bone crushing hug.

Dad smiles. "Hello Milani," he glances at me, and his smile fades a notch. "Skylar.".

I gently rap my fingers against my slacks, not wanting to outwardly show my emotions. "Dad," I say flatly, turning my attention towards Mom while nodding as she returns the notion with a small smile.

Milani and I take our positions in the family room, I casually sit down while Milani feels the need to fall back into the sofa with unnecessary force. I find myself rolling my eyes at her obnoxiousness, _again._

Dad smirks as he ruffles her hair. "You ready for Monday Milani?"

She nods excessively. "Of course, I can't wait to get off my pedestal and tear 'em all a new one!"

I scoff, trying my hardest to shove off my feelings of hatred and jealousy but to nothing. She's living the life that _I should_ be living! Loving parents who support my every venture, friends and a boyfriend who adore my presence and what have you? Now, I play the role of this tertiary character that everyone loves to disregard.

The observer. Living - _no_ , spectating someone else's life.

"I'd _absolutely love_ if some of your support went my way . . ." I mutter, staring out the window.

Dad catches my little wisecrack. I feel the pressure of their eyes boring into the back of my head, but I still rear away from them.

" _Excuse_ me?"

I glare at him, letting loose everything. "You heard me, I'm tired of all the praise you send her! I'm your _daughter_ for crying out loud, _treat_ me like it!"

The room goes quiet, excluding the TV that drones on in front of us. The first time holding a legit conversation with my father in days and it turns out to be yet another confrontation. He stares at me with a neutral, yet hurt expression as Mom frowns. Milani stares forward, nibbling on her thumb. The room is so silent even the slightest movement would sound like a vase shattering.

Before Dad could follow through, the jingle of the doorbells eight tone chime rings throughout the house.

Milani launches from her seat like a rocket. " _Oooooh!_ Jett's here!"

I join her as she opens the door, revealing a rugged boy clad in leather whose dark hair looks as if it were licked by a muttation, imitating the behind of a duck. She runs into his embrace, squealing all the while as I groan and silently put on my shoes. Ontop of her already rotten attitude, Jett Renzetti acts as an outlet for her to be even more volatile against those who just so happen to rub her the wrong way.

Jett nods to my parents and I as Milani releases him. "I'm here tuts, ya ready to agitate the gravel?" he points towards his black convertible.

She squeals. "Of course I'm ready!" and darts off towards the passenger seat, listing off all the antics that she plans to do before Reaping Day.

And of course, as I'm ready to walk out and join the two whacko's, a hand gently grips my shoulder.

It's Dad. "You know we care about yo-"

"Yeah, whatever." I wasn't having any of it, brushing off his hand only for Mom to repeat his notion.

She frowns. "Milani is very . . . ' _vibrant'._ It's good to hang out with her more, you'd make more friends maybe."

I roll my eyes, continuing my walk towards Jett's convertible as I make myself comfortable. As negative as this may seem, the damage between my parents and I seem as permanent as they can be. Just after the most recent fight, when things seem to be warming up again, another argument comes and knocks down the hope of things healing between us.

I for one, am tired of trying to impress parents who don't seem to get the message. If only there was a way to garner their affections again, to get them to _care_ again. Look at me - thinking up ways to get my parents to do something that should've been entitled to me since day one.

I'm surprised I haven't taken my chances in the streets or some other far-fetched idea like that.

A gentle tap rouses me from my daydream. Apparently, we've already reached the training camp for aspiring Careers. Built out of the husk of a old shipping process plant, the inside consists of a wide field like area, caked with black dirt and filled with certain pits for each different type of weapons training. Outside consists of the same, but also built in are so elaborate survival courses, specifically built for Hunger Game situations in which the tropics are concerned. Ever since losing our Career status when the military took back this District during the Mockingjay Rebellion, our makeshift center is ran by those who used to train before the 75th, and our most current Victor, Marissa Lynne.

Milani pokes me again. "Gee, you really are quite the thinker aren't you?"

I look around. Watching as Jett and his friends chuck tridents into wooden dummies and Milani's friends, Misty and Krystal, mindlessly chat away on the bleachers infront of me. "Yeah, I guess I am."

She smiles a genuine smile, a smile I've never seen in . . . forever. "Y'know, although you can be the biggest cube in all of District 4, I still love ya. Y'know that right?"

I glance at her and find myself returning the smile. "Yeah, I know.".

"Friends?" she opens her arms for a hug.

I comply. "Friends.".

"Now come on," she tugs my arm, "You can't be sitting here all alone forever y'know.".

She guides me towards the bleachers where Jett and her crew currently hang out. Assuming the typical position as one of Milani's mean girls, Misty, Krystal and I watch on and cheer as Milani lobs a couple spears here and there. As I do watch, the more I grow tired of the same old routine.

Being the follower, the third wheel.

For the past couple weeks, I thought long and hard about myself as a person, and how I can improve myself and my overall outlooks. As I glance at Milani vehemently chucking spears across the room, I think I've found my answer . . .

Milani reaches for another spear, only to find none. She glares in the direction of a group of twelve year olds who just so happened to have taken the last four.

"HEY pipsqueaks, fork over them spears!"

And with a groan I quickly stride over to the confrontation, sighing as a kid squeals with pain and fear.

* * *

 _ **"The Sensitive"**_

 _ **Joelle Castro, 14**_  
 _ **District 10 Female.**_

 _ **Submitted By: SomeDays**_

* * *

Sunday.

One more day until all the Districts hold their breath in wait as two unlucky kids get drafted for slaughter. For today, _just_ for today, I can take a step back and take what I have. _Yeah,_ just take it all in. As much as the Reapings seem like just another day to me, you can't stop but think that you might be called up one day.

It's almost like a scary folktale told on repeat. Yeah it's just a story, but you can't help but wonder either.

My friend Sasha and I watch on as m _y_ brother Christian and his pals lasso up a couple young bulls on horseback. It's interesting how they can make the rope coil into a bunch of different styles and shapes. You're not 10 if you don't know how to wrangle cattle or ride a horse. Like any district profession, it's an extension of yourself I guess.

My closest friend, Sasha sighs as Christian places his stetson on her head. "I ain't takin' this hat off for the rest of the evening." she purrs, "Ain't he such a dreamboat?"

I shake my head. "He ain't all that' Sasha, trust me."

He isn't. A pompous bully in his own right, Christian may seem like a pretty boy on the outside, but this is the bipolar opposite on the inside. I roll my eyes as he sends a wink Sasha's way, prompting my lovestruck friend to wave his way. He's nice if you really get to know him a little bit more than the average guy, I for one just wish he'd act one way instead of another.

"That's not true! Just look at him" she rests her elbows on the gate, watching him as he pursuits a young bull, laughing with pride all the while. It reminds me almost like a romance movie they play at the drive in back in town.

"That hair . . . that chiseled face, those rowdy eyes?" she jostles my shoulder, "Who wouldn't be attracted to such a guy?".

"He's a jerk, believe it or not." I retort. "I'm saying this for your own good Sash."

She crosses her arms in a huff, causing me to smirk on instant. "Who cares, you're just jealous. You're his sister, 'course you wouldn't think much o' him."

"Whatever ya' say Sash, you're a hopeless romantic." I quickly shoot down her opinion. My thought is my thought. Yeah, I may not hear people out all the time while defending my own ideas, but don't call me rude for it. I'm far from that. It's best to keep everything out in the open, thoughts, feelings, _everything._ It makes you a much more genuine person in other people's eyes.

We squeal as a young stag crashes to the ground in front of us, belly up, with white rope tying its feet together. It thrashes wildly as my cocky older brother hops off his horse and strides towards his catch.

"And that sir," he bends down, tying the stags neck and connected it to its forward legs. "Is how you lasso up a bull ina' nutshell."

Sasha claps giddily opposed to my slack, off beat tempo. "Woo hoo . . . show me something that the rest of the District _doesn't."_

He snorts, striding over to us. He reclaims his stetson from off the head of Sasha, only for her to groan under her breath. "'Bout you come givit' a try?" he jostles spare rope in his hands. "Or are you too _good_ for that?"

Girls in District 10 don't work the fields until the age of fifteen, younger if you prove capable. Sasha glances my way as I shrug. "I'll be registering for field work soon enough."

" _Mmmmmhm!_ Man I can't wait to see you crash and burn once its time." he sneers.

"Hey!"

Our heads turn to see Pa smiling wide, clad in black and red plaid and denim jeans. In one hand he holds a basket, in the other our three year old sister Harriet who giggles and squeals all the while. Behind him is Ma and dozens of neighbors, each of them carrying a basket or parasol as they chatter among themselves. Pa strides towards Christian, plucks his stetson off of his head and plants it on his own. Christian protests, but to no avail as his arms are too short to reclaim his hat.

"I'll have you know boy that your sister is a _mighty fine_ young woman, she can do anything she puts her noggin' to." he reprimands lightly, chuckling out loud as his hands ruffle my brunette hair to which I quickly straighten up again. Harriet, who wriggles out of Pa's grasp, giggles at the sight of my frizzled hair.

Everything from her puffy cheeks, her auburn pigtails and yellow sundress screams innocence. She's as cute as a button. It makes me warm to think that she'll never have to participate in a Hunger Game in her lifetime, let alone it being a figment of her memory.

"Joelle the crazy head girl!" she jeers, slowing backing away from me as I begin my slow stalk towards her. She screams on top of her lungs, just about to dart away as I grab her by the waist, tickling her all the while. She begs and pleads for me to stop, and I do.

"At least you happy . . ." she murmurs, her head suddenly downcast. With my thumb, I gently lower her chin upward, staring into her glossy brown flecks. "Why do you say that Harriet?"

"Mommy and Daddy and the other grown ups are sad." she pouts, pointing their way. I can't help but play with her cheeks, only for her to swat my fingers away. Right now, the adults seem quite content, preparing picnic tables for our dinner in just a moment. Covering the barren wooden tables with blue and white checkered cloth, some laugh, some talk among themselves.

Typical District 10.

I caress her back. "What were they talking about? Why were they sad Harriet?"

"Somethin' about the crazy clown lady and the kids that walk up and go _far far_ away . . ." she looks down again.

Of _course._ We may be out of the den in five years time, but I still have ways to go. With at least twenty slips in the bowl which is bound to go up sooner or later, my feet are still under the fire.

The sound of bells chiming coaxes me out of my thoughts. Harriet and I turn to see everyone flocking towards the giant picnic table, as Ma rings the bell again.

"Y'all ready for supper!? Come and get it!" she bellows. Almost on instant, everyone has secured a place at the table. The longtable erupts with chatter as everyone darts towards their favourite dishes.

"Could you pass the sweet corn!" Mister Mason bellows from the far right corner.

"Ohohoho, could I get a slice of ham?! I can't sit here and not have one of Miss Jackson's dishes." gushes Sasha.

Harriet tugs my blouse. "Pineawple please?!" she coos, and with those pleading eyes, I can't help but oblige her.

As my mom passes me a plate piled high with food, more food than we ever get bar Winter Solstice or New Years, I lean back and smile. I can officially say that 10 has the best sense of community than _any_ district in the republic. It almost makes me forget about-

Pa taps his fork against his glass cup, garnering the attention of the entire table.

"Howdy y'all, thank you for attending this evening." he smiles wide, his warm eyes scanning each and everyone of us. "Although the tomorrow and the next couple'a days will be mighty hard for many, we can at least be thankful that in five years time, we'll _finally be free_ of these damn Hunger Games!"

The table erupts with boisterous cheers of joy. Some tear up while others join shoulders. After a split second I begin to lightly cheer, fearing that someone somewhere would report us to Peacekeepers and have us hanged for treason. Pa reaches from under the table and retrieves a bottle, beaming all the while.

"Panemian Club wine, straight outta' District 11. First distilled during the 11th year of the Hunger Games." Pa chuckles with pride, "Now isa' good time as ever dontcha' think?" .

He strides around the table pouring wine into every glass, lesser for the minors. He stops at me, Christian and Harriet, placing an arm around myself.

"I'm damn happy at the thought that in just four years, my kids - _no - ALL_ our kids won't have to be subject to this. . . _garbage._ " he seethes, a stray tear seeping out of his left eye. It prompts me to wipe some tears out of my eyes, and Christian to pop out a genuine, true blue smile for once.

Pa takes in a quick breath. "And so," he exhales, lifting his glass into the air. We follow his notion. "I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but cheers to good ol' President Kane! Finally a president with sum' goddamn sense . . ."

"Cheers!" the table erupts with - _klinks-_ and cheers all around. I opt out of drinking though, as the red liquid scrounged up my taste buds as soon as it touched my lips.

"Now," Ma hums thoughtfully, raising a sleek eyebrow. "If only we could get rid of that horrible goatee too . . ."

Pa's sensitive murmurs about his prized yet ill-fitting facial hair as he rubs his chin is more than enough to get the entire table to burst with laughter.

* * *

 _ **"The Hardened"**_

 _ **Rafaela Novia, 15**_

 _ **Snow Island Female**_

 _ **Submitted By: Nrrd Gurl Meg**_

* * *

 _Oh Papa, Mama . . ._ If only you guys could be here too.

I sit on a bar stool, tending to a piña colada in my fathers old associates' nightclub, Atelier, possibly the best club Isla Nieve has to offer. The place has a rather . . . what do those Capitolites call it? _Swanky_ feel to it. '

The fixtures, glossy wood, go well with the dim lighting and the light brown walls sprinkled with floral designs. The best design of all in my opinion, is the open arch located at the north side of the room, facing the ocean. The moons sparkle glistens off the water _just_ right, while the music native to our island for hundreds of years, the upbeat lyrics and fast-paced instrumentals is more than enough to make you smile.

Not bad for a undercover brothel I'd say.

I nod along to the music, smirking to myself as I count paper bill after paper bill. All of it spoils from my recent _illegal_ ventures. Drug trafficking, upselling . . . _pimping,_ it's life here. Although my not-so-cozy, militaristic life at Artemisa Naval base seemed promising, _this_ outweighs dying chasing a pipe dream any day. My father started his hustle at this age and clawed his way up, so why not me?

I sip the remaining contents out of my glass, calling for the barkeep to refill it as I continue my count.

 _One thousand sesterces, two thousand sesterces, THREE thousand sesterces!_ I'm almost home free. A few couple hundred, and I'll have my own place of operations and then sooner or later, I'll take back what's rightfully ours.

For my _family._

"Ms. Novia I have to say, you have a _fine_ selection of young women as always."

Rose, a government man from the Capitol ventures out from one of the many rooms and makes his way towards me. He seems quite flushed, as the man quickly adjusts his suit and trousers.

"Ah, Señor Rose, I take it you enjoyed your evening?" I coo, spinning the stool towards his direction before claiming my refilled drink. I sip.

He chuckles dryly. "Of course. You can't get _that_ back at the Capitol. Say . . . don't you know that running a brothel in a district or territory is a federal offence?" he raises an eyebrow.

I have none of it. "It'd be awful if someone were to see a man of your stature wandering out of of one? Not to mention fooling around with an underage girl . . .". He's joking somewhat. The government seems to turn a blind eye to most crimes within the island, it depends on how much of a thorn you are in their side. As long as you have connections, you're safe.

"Right you are, little lady." he smirks, leaning in closer towards me. "Why don't you do it yourself? You seem . . . _good_ for it." his smile sends warning bells ringing through my brain.

Using my index finger, I push him backward. "I only administrate, not partake." I open my palm, clearing my throat.

With that coy, uneasy smile of his, he removes a bank note from his breast pocket and presses it in my palm. I grin, keeping my composure as I wink his way.

"Thank you for your patronage, Señor Rose." I lull in a sing-song tone, smiling bashfully. He waves lazily, sauntering out the barroom as he's escorted by Peacekeepers. He sends a "Happy Hunger Games Ms. Novia." my way before leaving the lounge completely.

After a moment or two Romula strides out of the same room, with a bored expression on her face. Sixteen, baby face, amazing features . . . need I say more?

"Is he gone?" she sighs. Without hesitation, I hand her a bank note. "Yeah, he's gone."

She drags me towards a sofa, launching us down in it with a huff. " _Mierda_ these men are sick . . . So pompous and demanding."

"Luckily they pay good. It's not all bad." I interject. She smiles, sipping from my glass. "True. Most of them are minutemen anyway." we break into laughter, just around the time another chorus of laughter is let loose.

Towards the entrance comes in Romula's boyfriend Johann, revered for his dark complexion and light eyes only those of District 11 would hold. Beside him, surprisingly, is Francisco, the acclaimed Victor of last years Hunger Game, in the flesh. The two boys' laughter closes to a sigh as they sit down on the opposite sofa before us. I silently opt for Johann to sit beside his gal, frowning slightly as he kisses the cheek that Rose may have just moments ago. Francisco, being the joker he is, pinches my thigh earning a slap to the shoulder for good measure.

I can't help but pry. "What's got you guys so giddy?" our eyes avert to a hostess who gives Francisco a milkshake, only to wink as the latest addition sends a wink her way.

"We just got word down the grapevine that some group of kids scammed some fancy wigs out of some money by doing some _'performance'_." Johann leans back into the Sofa, wrapping his arm around Romula.

I turn towards Francisco, as he does to me, garnering that stupid arrogant smirk _everybody_ now seem to adore. We have history yeah, going back to my days at Artemisa, fighting and showing patriotism for a country that could care less about you. Regardless of my defecting towards the life of crime, we, along with Joyceta, are on good terms regardless. I'm glad he wasn't one of the twenty two other cannons just a couple months ago. Judging by most of the tributes from this island, I'm kinda shocked he _wasn't._

Its a pipe dream, all off it. Just kids, most of the time barely _teenagers_ being pumped with false promises only to die an early death.

"So," I jab Francisco in the shoulder, " _Señor_ Victor, how are the riches treating you? Are you ready to mentor your new recruits tomorrow?" he scowls at my jeering, shrugging as his eyes shift to his milkshake, sipping the beverage.

"For your information, Novia, _yes,_ I'm _loving_ it." he slurps up the rest of his milkshake like the slob he is, jabbing the red straw in my general face area. "And we don't have any volunteers set in _stone._ So it can be anybody."

"Do you get any Capitol chicks?" prods Romula with a just as mischievous smirk.

" _Fuck_ no, Joyceta is more than enough for me."

"Well, you've made the locals very happy. So I hope the next batch will be just as good this year, no?" I smile.

Francisco nods, returning my smile with a wide beam. "We sure hope so."

We continue our conversation, chatting about recent happenings, including the Hunger Games supposedly ending soon which everyone seems to be supportive of. Our conversation ends abruptly as a hostess slips me a note.

" _Meet me at Revolution Square to seal the deal." -M.D.A_

 _Of course!_ The deal! If I give that ' _special package' to_ MDA, he never really told me his name, I'll have just enough money to _really_ get the ball going. Quickly saying my goodbyes without much explanation, I rush out of the nightclub and onto the busy evening streets of Havana.

Old and rustic, I'm immediately hit by the hot tropical air my island is famous for. Known for its bustling nightlife, Capitolites can be seen bopping to and fro, some drunk, some mindlessly chattering among themselves as they sway to the music. Havanas castle like buildings and cobble streets have been around for eons. The very square I walk to, revolution square, is where revered ancient Snow Islander Fidel Castro valiantly gave speeches to the towns people.

If only we had a man like him around again. I've read the history books, the ones they deem ' _Productive'_ to Panemian society. Whatever that means.

I saunter around the bustling square, only for a hand to grip my shoulder, cover my mouth and shove me into the nearest ally. On instinct I quickly sink my finger into the mans thighs causing him to growl out loud.

"It's me kid! MDA!" the man snarls. Getting a closer look at him now, he wears a turquoise floral shirt, along with tan shorts. With his clean shaven face and slicked hair, he screams sketchy but I'm not complaining. Money is money. I grab him by the hand and sit him down on a secluded street, on a bench more specifically.

While I am as calm as can be, my friend beside me seems fidgety. "You got the drugs?"

I raise an eyebrow, scowling. "Yeah, I got the _stuff_."

" _Do you have_ the drugs Rafaela Novia?" he presses.

Wait.

"How do you know my name?" I sputter, "We always go through initials and you _know_ that!" seething, the man inches away from me as I my hands snake around his neck and rip a wire straight from his ear.

 _Mierda!_ He shoves me to the ground and points a handgun straight between my eyes. "Ministry of Districts' Affairs! You're under arrest for drug traffick-"

My knee connects with his groin and his head the black steel of the bench. He's out in an instant. Grabbing the man's pistol, I begin my sprint as Peacekeepers appear out of nowhere and pursuit. They spare no mercy as one of them fires a burst from their rifle, I squeal as the plasma burns land near my feet.

 _MDA, Ministry of Districts' Affairs,_ why wasn't I smart enough to figure that out?!

As the Peacekeepers are lugging battle rifles and I a handgun, I make quick pace as I bop and weave through the crowds and alleyways. Looking behind me, those bloody Peacekeepers are nowhere to be seen.

Until I turn back.

I'm met with the butt of a rifle connecting with my jaw. I tumble to the floor, the pistol clattering out of my reach.

The Peacekeepers descend on me, jabbing me in the stomach before they drag me off towards a humvee. My vision blurs in and out, as two strong arms lug me out of the truck and drag me towards the middle of the square. A bell rings, signaling that an execution may take place. I struggle, scream and cry as the Peacekeepers roughly set me down and level their weapons at my defenseless form.

 _All illegal transactions not regulated by the federal government results in severe punishment, or death._ Even minors. Silly me.

At the corner of my eye, I watch as Romula and the gang regard me with confused faces. I turn back towards the firing squad, letting a wad of red-tinted saliva to dribble off my lips. They take aim, and suddenly, time seems to have slowed down a tad. I think about my family, all the potential to avenge the Novia name now gone with the wind.

" _Hold it,_ gentleman."

All eyes, and I mean _all eyes_ turn towards the composed voice. A man, in full military uniform casually strolls towards the squad of Peacekeepers and lowers each of their rifles as they look on in confusion.

 _Captain Hannibal Onassis._

"Captain, this minor was charged with -"

"I understand Corporal, a charge like this young ladies here cannot go unpunished." he says dismissively. " _However,_ I have a far better punishment for Ms. Novia."

He knees down towards my level, taking off his peaked cap. "Snow Island could use your ' _expertise'._ Have you ever given thought to bringing pride and glory to your district?"

* * *

 _ **Tada!**_

 _ **My apologies for the wait . . .I think school has hit us all in the gut recently. Like seriously, screw education! I had a lot of tests and mid terms done and coming up, so I had to sacrifice computer time in exchange for study time. I'm halfway done with the 2 reapings which will be told in the point of view of the victors...so look out for that.**_

 _ **Again sorry for the delay! I can't promise it wont happen again though. :(.**_


	6. Reapings Pt One

**_Haus Der Toten; The 95th Hunger Games.  
Reapings; Part One._**

* * *

 **Around the late 2140's after the Second Rebellion was quashed by our Capitol and its loyal patriots, Panem experienced something of a population boom, the National Government was eager to pacify its population, and the Districts wanted to forget. This gave way for many initiatives such as investment in infrastructure and the auto sector. Even routine things such as reaping procedure had to change due to a Districts population no longer being confined to one city, but multiple cities, towns and hamlets.**

* * *

 ** _Joyceta Rodriguez, 13, Snow Island  
Victor of the 94th Hunger Game._**

* * *

*Brzzzt* *Bzzzt* *Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt*

From her light bedsheet, Joyceta wriggled her head from underneath and checked her cellphone screen. From the cellular device, a hologram appears in the form of a prideful man decked out in his finest navy dress uniform, as he crosses his arms and casts a prideful smirk at nothing in particular. _'Captain Hannibal Onassis'_ is what appears at the bottom of his image. Below those, a date,

May 10th, 2158 _._ _Día de cosecha . . . Reaping Day._

Joyceta groaned, swinging her feet from the bed onto the cold wooden floor. In recent times now more than ever, Joyceta sometimes wished she didn't have to get up. " _Closing up from the world would be a rather daft thing to do,"_ the Capitol doctors would say, _"You're set for life, bathed in fame and riches, it will get better."_

Yeah right, Joyceta scoffed to herself as she released her hair from its knot, letting it dangle to her mid-back. _You can have the fame but the nagging feeling, the screams and the blood will forever be there. However, it's a step up from being a child army trainee._

She begrudgingly swipes " _Accept"_ alongside the speaker button.

"Buenos dias, Joyceta." Hannibal greets, his Capitol accent muddying the Spanish and making it seem much more . . . "plain" than Snow Islands standard Spanish speaker.

"Buenos dias, Captain," she let out a yawn, covering her mouth in surprise at the noise that mews out from it.

He clicked his tongue. "I'm glad I called now, who knows if you two would ever wake up. " he pauses, "Speaking of _you two -_ is Francisco up as well?"

Joyceta turned to her right, watching as her co-victor and closest friend in the whole wide world Francisco Noriega stirs slightly, wigging out of the covers as he smacked his lips with a slight groan.

"He's up now."

"Mmm. Melanie informs me that her hoverplane has just landed. People are piling into the square as we speak. Do make haste, a Peacekeeper detachment will be on their way shortly."

"Aye Aye Cap'n." Joyceta hung up the phone, only to be enveloped with a kiss on the cheek and Francisco's chin digging into her right shoulder. With a flick of a remote button, the privacy glaze is removed from the large rectangular windows and they are face to face with the sun's rays. A _"case study home*"_ the Capitol designers in charge had told them. _"It's the bee's knees! All the upper echelons have one somewhere in Panem, be it District 7 or 1!"_

Joyceta could see why, beyond their rectangular pool and patio furniture, a cerulean cove and the condominiums and archaic buildings that dot the land before it served as their view at all times. It was better at night, Joyceta had decided.

"Bueno's dias!" He beamed.

Joyceta replies by bunching up his cheeks within her hands and he responds in kind by leaning his forehead against hers. It's a coping mechanism, their sleeping together, at Joyceta's request more than Francisco's. It reminded her of those tender moments of pause during the games, snuggling up in a snowy cave to seek refuge from the cold ended up translating into seeking refuge from dead faces and accusatory glances from grieving parents.

 _"It's improper! They're growing children…"_ screeched her escort Melanie, only to huff as the Captain would mutter something about _"They have a 90k pension and a giant villa, I'm pretty sure they don't need to worry about reaping the consequences…"_

 _What consequences?_ Joyceta didn't know unfortunately, and she didn't see the improperness about it.

With that, they began their morning routine. Finished showering, Joyceta switched into a teal short sleeved polka dot blouse and cream skirt. As Francisco showered away, she slips into the guestroom. It's a rather extravagant room regardless, with sunset orange walls paired with pastel colored accessories. Joyceta makes a beeline to the cabinet facing the entrance to the pool window, opening it to reveal a black and white photo of her deceased mother and a shrine, the centerpiece being a statue of Mother Mary. The statue sits in what appears to be a meadow. Dressed in a baby blue robe and shawl, her arms are out in apparent embrace.

Joyceta took the rosary beads that sat before the effigy and eased down to her knees, only before making the sign of the cross.

"In the name of the father, son and the holy spirt," she began, praying for the children and their families, whose lives will be turned upside down, making extra emphasis to pray for those who will only receive a steel casket for their anguish.

"Wow Joyceta, Still praying to that make-believe god of yours?" Francisco deadpanned, as he leaned against the door frame, dressed in a navy and white accented tennis shirt, brown belt and gray checkered slacks.

She smirked- shrugging as she gently placed the rosary back down on the shrine and kissed her mother's photo. She remembered the words drilled into her by the school system,

 _"Spiritual dalliance only offers counter productivity. Nothing short of one hundred percent of your loyalty should be towards your Capitol. One flag, One party, One President._

Or so they said. People still practiced Christianity and forms of it, she learned from travelling to the lower Districts during her victory tour. The elders had invited her to church one Sunday after returning home from the Games and she hadn't turned back. Too bad Francisco was still totally blind to the government's teachings.

"Of course mi amigo, it's by god's grace we're still here." She placed a gentle hand on her fellow joint victor, only to get an awkward smile in return. She was still working on him, _he'll see God work in his life soon enough_ , she thought. _He already has._

They head down the stairs towards the smell of sausage, fruit smoothies and eggs. This was made by none other than Zoe, their avox who also lived with them. In usual avox fashion, Zoe was dressed in a black dress and white accessories such as an apron and stockings. Everything would appear to be just fine barring the tracker that was cuffed around her ankle and the often sullen face she wore most of her days. Joyceta tried to make things better for the young avox, as best she could.

"Hello Zoe, I trust that you slept well last night?" Joyceta chirped, earning a happy nod from the avox.

"Good morning Zoe, thanks for the breakfast! Your cooking is always a blast!" Francisco gently slugged the mute servant, earning a blush and a slight squeak from the younger avox. Joyceta and her partner continued to eat away until a loud series of knocks prompted Zoe to head down the hall to the main door. Zoe returned, bowing before the two victors as two Peacekeepers made their way into the kitchen.

The Peacekeeper with three gold chevrons topped with the national emblem, typically seen on Panem's flag or Capitol Seal on his left sleeve steps forward.

Remembering her rudimentary training, Joyceta concluded that he was a Peacekeeper sergeant.

"Victor Noriega, Victor Rodriguez, we're here to transfer you to the square for the reaping."

Joyceta eyed the young peacekeeper. Peacekeepers on Snow Island dressed differently than on the mainland, instead of the white and gray uniforms, donning an olive green patrol cap, uniform, black boots, brown utility belt and aviator glasses alongside an armband of Panem's flag to boot. Joyceta doesn't forget the cutlasses that hang off their utility belts as well.

Joyceta shares a nod with Francisco, dismissing Zoe for the day as the Peacekeepers escort them from the Victor's villas to Havana, transferring from the posh, upscale homes of Island officials to subpar housing schemes, groups of goats, children on their way to the reaping.

As Joyceta observed the conditions she once faced before she got reaped, she realized more and more how lucky she was to had made such a leap.

Captain Onassis, dressed in Peacekeeper olives, opened the door to the limousine as the crowd roared with applause. Media cameras flashed at all angles, as the three of them moved towards the Justice Building. Sitting before its steps were the Provisional Governor, the Mayors of the many towns on the island, and Melanie.

Peacekeepers griped the brown stocks of their rifles, their reflective aviators scan back and forth as they kept the energetic crowd at bay. Francisco was the opposite of surprised, shaking hands and blowing kisses every step of the way.

"Mi amigos! Gracias, Gracias, I love you too, yes I do! _Ha ha ha_."

Joyceta on the other hand wasn't used to the mass attention. It's only been a year. "Is it usually _this_ overbearing?"

Onassis turned to her, smirking. "I suppose. Lucky you though, you only have to deal with this stuff for five more years apparently."

Joyceta smiles at Melanie, their Capitol escort who sits in velvet chair to their right. The three take their seats next to Provisional Governor Batista, a Peacekeeper General who seems all too enamored with the various women he has surrounding him.

The smile is instantly made back into a frown. " _After the fourth quarter quell, Panem shall discontinue the Hunger Games."_ the President had declared a couple weeks ago.

The three mentors watch as Melanie angrily chides the Governor, who mutters as he steps to the microphone to give his usual speech. Joyceta leans closer to the Captain, "Do you really believe things will change when the time comes?"

 _President Kane was just going to disband the games? After one hundred years of them, alongside two wars? Mind you, one of them just happened recently_. Joyceta was skeptic, sighing as the Captain shrugged and Melanie replaced Governor Batista at the microphone.

Just five more years, then what? What happens to the victors? The arenas, the money that people generate each and every year?

The males in the audience howled at the fruit two piece bikini and headband Melanie had dawned for the occasion. She languished at the attention of course, gigging into the microphone.

"Hola Isla Nieve! Como estas?" she chirped, her smile beaming even more as the crowd cheered in response.

"Welcome, Welcome to the Nintey-Fifth Hunger Games! May the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" she struts towards the male bowl, "Boys first I suppose!" Melanie scooped a handful of slips, casually letting all but one fall back in. "Johnny Gonzalez!"

Multiple shouts of "I volunteer!" erupt from the crowd as younger scrappy boys dash for the stage. A dark skinned boy seemed to have had the title of male tribute before being deftly denied as a lighter skinned boy leapfrogs over the boys shoulders and onto the stage with a bow.

"Nicolao Lucritis, or 'Nic' if you'd like- at your service!" he shakes Melanie's hand.

Melanie lets out a slight giggle, "You're certainly one of the more fashionable tributes I've had a pleasure of escorting!" the jumbo screen begins to focus on Nic's shiny, patchwork outfit. It reminded Joyceta of the jesters she would sometimes see as she visited the tourist locales, as she and Captain Onassis shared a slight smile at the rather goofy looking boy. Francisco on the other hand, leads the crowd in a howl of laughter as Nic sheepishly shrugs off the unexpected attention.

"Well then, onto the girls." Before Melanie swipes a name out of the bowl, a girl from the fifteen year old section strides towards the stage, which surprises Joyceta and most of the audience due to the lack of resistance from the other eligible girls.

"Umm, excuse me! You're supposed to wait before I-" Melanie spluttered before the girl swiped the microphone with a sneer. "Quiet fruitcake, my names Rafaela Novia and I'm your volunteer, got it?"

Joyceta noticed Francisco's intensive stare, and the Captain's rather nonchalant attitude. "Am I out of the loop, or what?"

"Ms. Novia happened to be the daughter of "El Gardo", a former mob boss on the island. Both him and the mother were killed in a dispute, naturally." Hannibal stated flatly, his eyes trained ahead, indifferent of the gaze the fifteen year old female tribute had shot him. "Of course, Rafaela took up the family business in a smaller, yet effective capacity."

Francisco scoffed. "Yeah, and _El Capitan_ over here would've killed her if she hadn't volunteered in exchange."

The Captain was unfazed by Francisco's quip "As you get older, the politics of reapings and the District at large will get more and more intricate. You should be lucky you're experiencing a scenario like this now. It only gets worse."

Joyceta nodded as Francisco's annoyance subsided into a timid agreement. She brought this upon herself, Joyceta concluded. Rafaela should've stayed low, stayed at the army base with a roof and decent food over her head. It would've been better that way.

Rafaela tossed the mic back into the escort's hands. "Hmph! Abysmal attitude . . . There you have it Isla Nieve, your tributes for the Nintey-Fifth Games, Nicolao and Rafaela! Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

The two tributes shook hands before being escorted into the building, leaving Joyceta and her fellow mentors alone on the stage as the crowd quickly dispersed in a cacophony of speculation.

"Leave the mentoring to me. Joyceta, you and I will take the boy, while Francisco and I will work on the girl, since Francisco is better acquainted. Your world is about to get even larger, the complication doesn't stop here. Learn what you can."

Joyceta nods with an affirmative grunt as Hannibal escorts them inside the Justice Building. Of course, the spotlight is still on them even if the trumpets blared almost a year ago. If Joyceta could bring at least one tribute home before the games supposedly concluded five years from now, she'd be even more elated.

Here's hoping she could learn a thing or two. It was time to put childish things away, even if she wanted to desperately cling to those things to retain _some_ semblance of normalcy.

* * *

 ** _Berglind "Mum" Jonsdottir, 109 District 2._**  
 ** _Victor of the 2nd Hunger Game_**

* * *

She wondered _where_ he went wrong, _how he could've gone wrong._

Berglind let out a slight cough, sighing as she took in the sight before her. She stood in a mausoleum dedicated to the fallen, the only source of light being the hologram that stood before her. A young, chiseled boy, decked out in his Peacekeeper Cadet white dress uniform adorned with a medal or two. His blond hair, striking blue eyes gave him the embodiment of Panem's boys in white mantra, the embodiment of a _victor._

 _Why why why_?

 _Cadet Spartacus Nero, 18  
24th Hunger Games, placed 2nd.  
B.2096  
D.2114_

 _"I am proud to have been selected for this undertaking. Even in death I bring pride to my District and its people, and because of that I shall never yield!"_ barked the hologram at nothing in particular, just a nifty Capitol invention that further immersed mourners. Berglind supposed it was to give further closure.

"You could've been here by my side, mother and son." Berglind mused, sighing to herself as she reached out to caress a cheek that couldn't be caressed. _It was his fault_ Berglind concluded with a slight nod, _you weren't good enough to make it out on your own accord._

She glanced out at all the other plaques and holograms that dotted the underground graveyard, if only they all could've lived to see how far we've come. They too would be proud at the progress the District has made within ninety five years.

"Madame Jonsdottir?"

Berglind glanced and smiled at the Peacekeeper, a Miss lieutenant Regis- her aide de camp, as she stood at attention beside the archaic Victor. Unlike the usually combat uniform, she wore her dress whites, and a silver trench coat to keep out the rain.

"Victor Rivendell is awaiting you above ground, the Reaping is about to be underway." She said softly, lending out her arm for Berglind to take. Berglind smiles, taking the arm of the young Peacekeeper as she leads them out of the dank, dark catacombs and towards the surface.

As they leave the mausoleum, the *clack* of rifles can be heard as two Peacekeepers, clad in dress uniforms and trench coats, snap a crisp salute to the elder Victor. It's a rather cool, rainy day with light fog swirling around the tombstones and dew soaking the grass and cobblestone around them.

"At ease officers," Berglind smiled warmly at the two Peacekeepers who immediately assumed their former positions, their heads tilted downward as the rain soaked brim of their service caps obscure their faces, thier crisp white gloves placed rigidly on the stocks of their rifles as their bayonets stab into the concrete below.

Beyond the Peacekeepers, and the countless graves stood Zenobia, her eyes obscured by black wayfarers. "There you are mum, I was wondering where you'd be." Zenobia smiled as she eased Berglind into the navy blue limousine that awaited them.

Berglind flashed a toothy grin. "Where else would I be? Sleeping in with that old coot Germanicus?"

Zenobia cups Berglinds hands within her own, "Sorry Mum, I forget how silly I can be. A spry, young woman like you doesn't need to sleep in."

Berglind nods in Zenobia's direction. "You're damn right and don't you forget it again." The two Victors share a laugh. The drive transfers them from the graveyard to the mid-sized city of Acropolis. Every two story building which each held an apartment on the first floor and a business on the second were draped with "Panemiana", brushing each building with red and gold flags and Capitol seals. Also lining the streets before the Justice Building were hundreds of people, cheering as multiple limousines lined the route.

The motorcade continued until it lined up with a red carpet flanked by Peacekeepers and velvet ropes. Berglind and Zenobia quickly disembarked with help from Lieutenant Regis, meeting up with the Victors of their District. Germanicus, Griffin and Cassius -The team back at it again.

Germanicus made a beeline towards Berglind, extending the crook in his arm with a devilish smile on his lips. _At one hundred and ten years old_ , Berglind thought, _he was still up to his old tricks._

"Berglind, you old bat!"

"Germanicus, you old coot!" She retorted.

"Care to escort an old man to his seat?"

"Well of course, I'd be happy to!" Berglind links arms with his, the two ancient Victors chuckling all the way up the steps among the cheers that wash over them. The Victors greet the Governor and Mayors, while taking their respective seats. Berglind smiles at Olivia, their escort. Olivia appeared to be decked out in purple halter dress and accessories, complementing her dark skin and poufy curls.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your District's noble Victors – Germanicus Nero, Berglind Jonsdottir, Zenobia Rivendell, Griffin Naysmith and Cassius Romano!"

Zenobia aides Berglind and Germanicus out of their seats as the crowd roared with applause. _This is how it's supposed to be,_ Berglind thought to herself as she waved to her adoring public, _I couldn't imagine life without routines such as this._

 _As if right on cue, " . . ._ And to think that _bastard_ wants to do away with tradition, _our livelihoods."_ Cassius seethed, earning grunts of agreement from Germanicus , Zenobia and Griffin.

Berglind frowned at his words. She remembered watching the announcement at Corbulo Academy, the mass jeers and cursing the cadets, trainers and Victors shouted out alike instantly brought back the smile on her face. Nearly _one hundred years of tradition_ would be neutered by a man in over his head.

Part of her wished a Snow was in power again . . . scratch that, Coriolanus was far too unhinged for her liking. She'd lot many a friend due to the idiotic purge he'd enacted.

Berglind flashed a toothy grin. "Luckily for you guys, Germanicus and I will be dead before our nation's fabric is torn."

A group of six cadets marched simultaneously across the red carpet, baring a giant flag of Panem. Each held edge while two held the inner middle. They hustled the flag towards the middle of the square, where a giant flagpole stood. As trumpets played the opening stanza, the cadets quickly assembled the flag to the pole while one cadet held the ends. Berglind, alongside everyone else in the square placed her right hand over her heart as the anthem began to play.

The cadet holding the ends of the flag launched the flag into the air, as if he were unveiling it for the public to see before snapping back into a salute*

 _Yessiree!_ Berglind thought as she sung the anthem _, I swear on Snow's white rose I never want to see the day where this is not the norm._

They watched as Olivia strutted towards the microphone. "Welcome citizens of District 2, to the Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games! Woo hoo!" the crowd cheers with moderate applause, Berglind notices as the cadets are much more restrained this year. They knew that this was a year in which they chose their tributes, any other year would've been a madhouse of emotions and teenage egos.

"Females first I suppose!" a slip comes out of the bowl, "Lisa Overshoot!"

"I volunteer as tribute!"

Berglind nods as Aliyah Marini bounds up the steps and shakes Olivia's hand, "Aliyah Marini, your next victor." _Good._ The girl was quite guarded and off-putting, but she was resilient and had a good head on her shoulders. She was out of her uniform, sporting a black dress that reached her waist and white flats alongside bouncy hair down to her back.

Berglind couldn't help but smirk as the boys in the crowd eyed the girl like a child eyes candy in a general store. Even though the dress showed off little too much, it'd go well with the Capitolites for sure. Zenobia thinks there's potential with the child, so that's that.

"Aliyah Marini you say? I see a Victor in you for sure!" Olivia chirped.

"Yeah, here's hoping I don't . . . _overshoot_ my chances!"

. . .

Berglind could only raise an eyebrow as the perplexed escort led the crowd with an awkward chuckle here and there. Olivia casts a glance at Berglind, nodding as the elder Victor rolled her wrists in a circular motion. _Be on with it, we don't have all day._

"Now for the boys!" slip out, flip the tab, "Marcus Ehmke!"

"I volunteer!" a bold and resounding voice resonated throughout the square.

Berglind nodded in approval as the seventeen year old section parted for a good looking blond boy bounded up the stage. _Their pick certainly was a good one,_ Berglind thought, as both their tributes would gain tons of a appeal for their looks alone. Shirt undone with a green tie slightly askew and a button or two undone, sponsors would go ga-ga for the young lad.

"Merlyn Eidian, at your service." he said casually, hands placed in his pockets. Olivia clapped with glee. "Your tributes District 2! Merlyn and Aliyah, lets give them a round of applause as we wish them well!"

Berglind and her fellow Victors quickly converged on the steps of the Justice Building.

"Zenobia has the girl of course, and I shall take the boy." Berglind stated, earning resounding nods from the others. _There, the matter has been settled._ Here's hoping that idiot Thames Hyperion doesn't oversee another fluke game in which a sniveling brat took the crown.

Besides, Berglind mused as she took Germanicus' hand and led him into the limousine on its way to the trains, _one last mentorship wouldn't kill me._

* * *

 ** _Head Peacekeeper Colonel Tertius Varro (Ret'd), 51  
Capitol Mentor, District 3_**

* * *

 _The tears I cried for you could fill an oceannnn_ _  
But you don't care how many tears I cry!  
And though you only lead me on and hurt meeee!  
I couldn't bring myself to say goodbye!_

 _'Cause everybody's somebodys fooooool!  
Everybody's somebody's plaything!_ _  
And there are no exceptions to the ruleeeeee!  
Yes, everybody's somebody's fool!_

Everybody's sombody's fool, by The Barberettes, continued to drawl throughout the bar as Tertius took a long sip of his beer, then a drag of his cigar.

He'd rather much be with the train, but Doris - the twenty year old dame new to the whole escort thing, was far too clingy. One night stands and commitment were blurred lines when it came to her. The Justice Building? The Governor, her staff and pretty much everyone else in the District were the same string beans he'd known since he had command of the District twenty years prior.

The factory hands, he decided he liked. The burly- none too bright blue collar men and women who frequent this very bar. The regular Joe's who make this District go 'round, not the chinks and brown skins that that serve as the upper echelons, Tertius had concluded as the barkeep slid another beer down his way.

"This one's on the house, courtesy of that table over there." Tertius nodded his thanks to the disheveled men and women who returned the gesture. Yep. They were the loyal ones, well most of them.

All eyes turned towards the holoscreen hooked up to the wall as the anthem blared, followed by the opening theme of the PBC, Panem Broadcasting Corporation.

"Hey guys! The hangings are on, turn it up!" one of the patrons yelled, with the barkeep doing just that.

A caption flashed onto the screen supported by flames in the background _" **DEATH TO TRAITORS!** " _

_"'If you take up arms against your Capitol in selfish lust, you have betrayed your nation- it's stability, and its people. The only plausible solution- is death'_ , A federal judge said as the last of the leadership during the Second Rebellion are set to be hung for their treason." Droned on the narrator.

Five men and two women dressed in dark grey jumpsuits are emotionless as _"TRAITORS!"_ is branded onto the screen.

"Flax Banner, Drew Studebaker, Trent Current, Mark Tesla, Barley Johnson, Mary Weaving and Judy Marrow each commanded a rebel cell in their respected Districts, endorsing the deaths of countless Peacekeepers and loyalist families alike. Who knew supporting stability and the hand the fed them warranted such needless demise."

The camera switched over to the presiding arbitrator, a Judge Katherine Odin, a dark skinned lady. "Treason is a rather easy topic to deal with, the remedy is simply _death_. People need to think before threatening our Capitol."

The camera switched to the gallows, each prisoner being hoisted up onto a pedestal, a noose on each of their necks.

"Their families have said goodbye, and their correspondence has been settled. All that is left is the retaliation for the crimes they perpetuated."

A Peacekeeper goes over each noose one last time, as mothers and fathers, judging by the medals that dawn their necks- parents of deceased Peacekeepers killed in action, watch with sullen faces between two way screens. The Peacekeeper gives a "OK" signal which then prompts a Peacekeeper by a ground switch to yank it backward, jerking each prisoner with a violent *snap*.

One of the gallows malfunctioned, leaving Flax untouched. All Flax could do is scream, pleading for mercy as a helmeted Peacekeeper levels her M2150 plasma scattergun at his chest. 5 shots is all it took to render a muscular, able bodied District 11'er into a charred mass of flesh.

"Behold, the might of our Capitol!" said the narrator as Tertius, off duty Peacekeepers and some factory hands let out a rowdy applause as the bodies swayed back and forth.

"That's good ol' fashioned justice for ya'" Tertius grunted, taking another swig from his beer.

"Yeah, and in five years' time, you won't have any more of it, so take it in while you can- you Capitol thugs!"

The bar falls into an abrupt silence, the jukebox shut off as all eyes fall onto an oriental boy. He appeared to be about twenty or thereabouts, Teritus decides, and judging by his typical District 3 frame - he couldn't hold a jello shot even if he tried.

Tertius could use a little entertainment. "What was that _slant_? If you don't watch y'mouth you could g'nailed for public misconduct- blasphemy against the Capitol . . . . 'Keepers will beat 'ya 'ta the inch of your life." he took another swig, motioning to the Peacekeepers to hold their position. _He got this._

The boy was not to be deterred. "Public misconduct eh? I suppose that's better than being a _war criminal!_ Massacring innocents!" He shoved a loose seat out of the way, removing his glasses to reveal a slight scar on his forehead. "Remember me!?"

Tertius killed many a dissident within the past decade or two. The scar rings a few bells, the boy was old enough to live through the rebellion right?. _Oh yes_ , he remembered now.

It had been December, 2141. District 3 was in the midst of being cordoned off for good. Throughout the city of Salem, squads of Peacekeepers stormed building after building in search of collaborators and remaining cells. Screams, followed flashes of blue and yellow from ballistics and plasma alike, lit up the cityscape as he himself lined up a staff of factory workers known to have produced faulty weaponry. The slant boy's father happened to be the head honcho, before he and his boys could pull the trigger, the little boy begged for him stop, earning him a stock to the face for his trouble- only for him to watch in horror as Tertius emptied his magazine into the shivering crew without a second thought.

"I 'member you. T'bad your father never knew 'is place."

He had caught the weak fist before he could raise his bottle for another sip. Wringing his arm counterclockwise, Tertius relished in the audible snap his wrist had made, followed by the boy's anguished cry. Before he knew it, the boy had had his head bounced against the bar counter and his shirt scrounged up by Tertius' right hand as the former Head Peacekeeper readied his fist for another blow. The only thing stopping him? A gentle tap against his shoulder and a small arm enveloped against his right one.

Gwendolyn Faraday, enveloped in a pastel pink overcoat shook her head sternly. "S-s-s-st- _stop_ , no more fighting."

With a glance at the boy, and another at the astonished patrons- he let the boy crumple to his feet as he secured his brown leather jacket around his body. He began to leave, waiting as Gwendolyn paid the bartender and quietly mewed her sorry about he mess. They were already at the square, Peacekeepers escroting their way up to the steps as Governor Stevenson had already announced Gwen's name. The light applause geared towards her rather than him.

"Should've let me knock some sense in t'him." The two mentors take their seat next to Doris, who smiles at Gwen, only to blush and look away as Tertius settles down.

Gwen shrugged, gesturing to the adults who spectate on the sidelines. "Y-y-y-you-you're already the black sheep. Nnnn-nno-no need to instill anymore fear."

Tertius smirked. He felt no way about it! He scanned the crowd, watching the sullen faced adults cast their glares. They were aware of what he'd done during his tenure. He relished at how anguished they must be. He had laid the hammer down on this District hard during his day, he and his troops probably killing dozens of people who's relatives stand in this very square as we speak.

He'd pay it no mind, smirking to himself as Doris took her place at the stage, wearing a yellow beaded dress, stockings, black flats, a black bead necklace and a black feather headband in her glossed blonde bob. _Maybe if she wizened up, he'd take her for another round_ , he thought ruefully, gazing at her ruby red lips as she greeted the tame crowd. He must've zoned out, as they were now past the introductory film and onto the reapings.

"Evara Winslett, please come to the stage!"

The fifteen year olds parted for a brunette girl wearing a short, black slim gown that was sure to raise some heads in the Capitol. She dawned an expression of surprise, before perking her head up and confidently marching towards the stage. As soon as the fifteen year old settled, Doris was back at it again. "Herrick Argent, come forward my dear!"

The sixteen year olds part for a boy in a navy blue shirt and black slacks. His mouth sits agape, typical of a outlying District of course, Tertius thought. Frowning, he sulked up the steps, making direct eye contact with Teritus as the older man raised an eyebrow while adjusting himself for the boy to see. _Buck up kid! No one will sponsor a sulking mess for Snow's sake._

He gets the memo, smiling before shaking Doris' hand, followed by Gwen, Tertius and Evara.

"Such manners!" Doris chirped as Herrick smiled sheepishly, "What can I say ma'am, I'm a nice guy, it's in my nature."

"Good for you, we need more men like you! Loyal, diligent, _caring!"_ she practically seethes, glaring beams at Tertius all the while. Unbeknownst to her, all eyes appeared to be on her as an awkward pause hanged in the air.

" _Ahem_ , well then! Your tributes District 3, Herrick and Evara!" the youthful escort yanks each teens hand into the air, earning a sharp "Hey, easy!" from Evara and a strangled cry from the boy. With that, the festivities are over.

All in all, Tertius didn't know what to feel about these guys. He struggled to care- ontop of his pension and pay from being a Capitol mentor, he was banking on getting Gwen up to speed before taking off.

Speaking of _Gwendolyn_ , "Gwen. What's your take on the picks?"

The young Victor smiles slightly. "We all go to the s-s-sssame -sch-scho-school. Evara is s-elf reliant, confidence is good. Herrick's a good guy."

Tertius grunted in acknowledgement. The girl has groundwork, the boy could be fodder if Tertius doesn't have his way with him for the next week or two. Plus, Gwen need a crash course in Hunger Game politics. It'll be a fun week for Tertius indeed.

"Stick with me, learn the ropes, chat with the other Victors, and you'll get an idea on how things'll go."

Gwen nodded sheepishly, "I'm ready t-t-to learn Colonel. I-I-I-I know it wo-wont be easy . . ."

Tertius ruffles her hair as he guides her towards the Justice Building doors. "At least you're honest kid."

"At least you're honest. And hey, at least you're stuck with this gig for five more years."

* * *

 _ **Koller Ascort, 27,**_

 _ **Victor of the 86th Hunger Games, District 6.**_

* * *

The needle was his only respite. Well _that_ and the fact that he was lazing in a jacuzzi naked with his fellow Victor Silvia Starr.

Sure, the horn rang multiple times without end but on a day like today, who the hell would want to get up anyway? They were on cloud nine, Silvia and Koller- and they weren't getting off the train anytime soon. They deserved their peace and they were going to enjoy it.

"Hit me daddy-o, I'm dying over here . . . " Silvia practically moaned as Koller obliged. He watched as the clear, pinkish liquid lazily swirled into her wrist vein. Silvia lets out an elated sigh. Silvia ebbs over towards Koller, returning the favor. Koller felt a brief flash of euphoria, before slipping back into his state of dreamy haze.

"Home A.I, music please." Silvia cooed, followed by a " _Choose your selection"_ from a robotic female voice.

"The Apollos- Beatnik, 2157." Koller finished, sinking deeper into the tub as relaxing jazz enveloped the penthouse floor. Their "Victors Village" was in the shape of a condominium overlooking Lake Michigan and downtown Detroit. Koller and Silvia had made many a painting of the landscape, generating many coin for their art . . . only for it to go straight into their slush-fund to fuel their "habits".

"It's lonely being at the top." Koller murmured, as he and Silvia watched the taillights of cars zoom from here to there, the lights being melted into a mosaic from the rain spitting onto the large rectangular window.

"I wish I had the gall to walk over to the balcony, throw myself off and paint the pavement with my blood and broken bits." Silvia deadpanned.

Koller glared at her though his drug induced haze, _she wasn't serious right? Sil always says the most raunchy shit ever. "_ Those are some weird illuminations you got there Sil."

"I'm telling ya Koller, the bloody hatchet, the _mutt_ s man! No matter how much I try, they keep coming back. The spaz attacks keep getting worse. I swear, 'The Man' designed this whole games bit real crafty like. Yeah, sure you win . . . but you're never _truly whole_."

Kollar guffaws, "Fuck 'The Man!" As long as we have control over our own two feet, I couldn't give a grooslings ass about what anyone thinks." he smirks as he shakes up another syringe. "You know what you need? More morphling."

Before he could insert the drug, Flo- their escort, barges through the door with a Peacekeeper entourage. She huffed, her navy and white polka-dot dress ruffling against her calves as she stopped in the middle of the room.

"Ugh, what in blazes are you two doing, don't you understand you have obligations to uphold?!"

Koller rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Cut the gas, man! I'm trying to relax."

Flo glared beams at the Victor, her dark skin turning a prune purple. "Lieutenant, be a doll and bring the car around."

"Yes ma'am, right away ma'am." the Peacekeepers return to the hallway and out of sight. Out of Flo's purse came out a pair of white gloves, as she proceeded to pull the naked, intoxicated Victors from out of the hot tub, tossing articles of clothes at them as she ranted about things that Koller frankly, doesn't care about at the moment. Flo was such a _squaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare . . ._

"I ain't losing my job, or worst yet, getting demoted a District because you guys can't buck up, ya dig!? Now get your clothes on and get your butt's down the elevator."

Begrudgingly, the two did as they were told, grumbling incoherently as they were hustled into the limousine and off to the Justice Building. They were each identically dressed in all black. Koller in his Sweater, slacks and loafers with his wayfarers to boot, and Silvia with a more feminized tights, turtleneck, flats, beret, silver necklace and cat eye sunglasses.

As the Governor announced the two Victors, Koller couldn't help but scoff at all the faces that gawked back at him. _Look at all them, bunch a' conformists. They don't know half the shit I go through._ Koller always heard the whispers of pity and speculation, they no one had the gall to take him up on those musings. He felt like a fish in a bowl.

"What the hell are you nosebleeds looking at?!" Koller spat as thousands of eyes averted from his glare. "What, you guys haven't seen two intoxicated people before!?" he and Silvia cackle as Flo presses them to their seats and takes her place at the podium.

After the anthem, video and acknowledgements, the jumbo-screen switched to a random face of a child within the District. The screen contained information that would be seen on a D.I.P, _District Identification Pass._ A cry washed over the square as the parent of the girl, Lexus Doyle, begged for her twelve year old not to be taken.

Flo cackled. "Cool it lady! This here system has been introduced this year to modernize our reaping system!" the crowd murmured as Flo sashayed around the pull switch.

"As you register with the Peacekeepers at the tables over there, your name is then put into the database, which this switch will randomly determine who will be joining me as tribute!" a coy smile washed over her deep red lips as she gripped the handle, "Let's get this ball rolling, shall we? Ladies first!"

It reminded him of a game show, Koller thought as Flo pulled the switch and the faces of female youth flickered on the screen. _The colours were soooo pretty..._ The lottery randomly stopped on a brunette with blue eyes and pale skin.

"Cveta Moscone! Please come to the stage."

The fifteen year old section parted for the young woman wearing a black dress with white lace accessories. Her legs and neck were reddened as if she injured and the wounds here haphazardly healed. Blood pooled around her lips, as if she'd clamped down on her tongue. Flo beckoned for the girl to come forward, waving her hands as if she were attracting a dog rather than a human being.

And like that, Cveta bolted. She had almost left the square before a Peacekeeper caught her and hauled her over his shoulder.

"Screw this, I'm not going to the Capitol to be killed off! Fuck this country and everyone in it! This is rigged you hear me?! RIGGED!" the crowd fell into murmurs of astonishment as the girl clawed and swatted at the Peacekeeper who unceremoniously dumped her on the floor, only before jabbing a sedative into her neck.

"You and me both sister, we're all chained to the rhythm!" Silvia cackled at her joke earning a glare from Flo, who strutted over to the switch.

"Well then, onto the boys then! Here's hoping the next one is more civilized than Ms. Moscone." the boys were flickering across the screen. At last, an Asian boy landed on the screen. "Orville Mullen! Please come to the stage sweetie!"

And from the thirteen year old second appeared Orville, wearing what appeared to be his factory uniform . . . which is very neat given his profession of worming through the nook and cranny of each car coming off the assembly line. He appeared fearful, like many children his age. Unlike many before him, at least his fear was minuscule enough for him to walk the length of the square to the stage itself. Flo's caressing of his shoulders did more than enough to ease his fear, for now, as she guided him to shake the limp hand of Cveta.

"Well District 6! Here you are, Cveta and Orville! Wish them well!"

The crowd seldom applauded as Koller let out an audible groan. _A thirteen year old and a scarred delinquent! yippee . . . hip hip horraaaay. Not._

 _"_ WOOO, That makes thirty bodies under my belt! WOOOOO YEAH! _"_ Koller was out of his seat now, as the media outlets rushed to cover his tirade. Orville frowned as Cveta and Silvia were too high to care. Flo motioned for the feed to be cut, but tabloids don't care about ethics, as long as they got their scoop.

Koller points at the cameras, "Next stop, bloodbath CITY!" then to the hundreds of thousands of spectators in the square below, "Not like any of you squares care though! Welp, as for me, I'm going to be stoned out of my mind while you idiots take the fall!"

Koller begins to storm away, not before tripping over a wire tumbling down the stairs. As reporters converged around his bruised body like vultures over their pray, their cameras flashing before his eyes.

He wished the month was over already.

* * *

 _ **Just before the turn of the 2150's, Governorship's were implemented to properly administrate the District' growing population and to further placate the general population. Mayors were appointed to control new municipalities while the Governor administered the District, and the administrative city at large.**_

 _ **During the Second Rebellion, entire District governments were implicated or complicit in the aiding of rebel factions. After Operation: KALEIDOSCOPE in which each District was individually cordoned off and 'pacified', entire governments were decommissioned and Head Peacekeepers installed a temporary provisional military government, thus, Provisional Governors headed by a senior Peacekeeper.**_

 _ **Districts in which only portions of their governments were rebellious, or stayed loyal during the Second Rebellion, effectively transitioned to this new model.**_

* * *

 ** _*Connie Francis- "Everybody's somebody's Fool" (1960), both "Authors" of the song and why everything is so . . . "Vintage" will be explained down the line._**

 ** _*The Champs- "Beatnik." (1958?)_**

 ** _*Case Study houses, experimental houses built in the forties to the sixties. House #22 is what I picture Joyceta's house to look like.  
_**

 ** _*In China, whenever they do a flag raising ceremony, a soldier usually tosses the flag into the air before the anthem, seems fitting for a militaristic place like District 2, maybe even Panem at large._**

* * *

 ** _thedewynterdynasty dot wordpress dot com._**

 ** _^For my headcanon, old time advertisements and lore among other things. It's going under a retrofit though._**

 ** _theluckyfew, with the same ending web address.= for my victors, which is also going through a retrofit._**

* * *

 ** _I think I will switch to first person. Mhm._**

 ** _A note from Tyler_** : Hello those of you who are still coherent! You know how it is, you hit a roadblock, then you stumble, and a whole lot of your interests get affected along with your stumble. , writing was one of them. "Get a hobby" my counselor says, among many others. I think about this story on and off, and the type of universe I had imagined. I have my inspiration, which was lesser than when I started this story, and I have a yearning to add more to my hobby list, which aside from Gaming and politics, I basically have none. Thank you for reading this chapter, and the rest as they come through.

I'm going to take my time. Hopefully, I pull through. Thanks for reading this far, I truly appreciate it.


	7. Reapings Pt Two

_**Haus Der Toten; The 95th Hunger Games.**_

 _ **Reapings; Part Two.**_

* * *

 _ **A note from tyler: Thanks for reading those of you who read or skimmed through the last chapter I wrote. And judging by the multiple views from the same "Visitors" I assume that you find my "Headcanon" interesting enough to come back to the chapter, so thank you! I appreciate it. and I'm sorry for leaving your tributes to dry. I have big plans for my "world", so here's hoping I can get them done. One more reaping after this, which I've enjoyed so far, because of the background I've created, then the trains (1 chapter) and so on and so forth. I'm going to try and minimize the chapters and the word count. This chapter itself is 2000 more words than the previous, if you include the extra fat such as these bold stuff.**_

* * *

 _ **"The "Wilds" aren't necessarily "Wild". What was formerly the nation of "Canada" before being centralized into the former United States, consists of derelict cities abandoned due to the shift in climate and bombings from the Russian far north. Those who survived, and didn't flee into the bordering Districts and the Capitol itself managed to live on in small colonies, Alaska is a prime example of this. The native population has thrived, reclaiming the lands their ancestors once walked. Panem has established military outposts for expeditions into these lands, salvaging raw materials and recovering artifacts. There is talk of incorporating these lands, such as District 14 around what was known as "Toronto", Ontario" and District 15 near "Calgary, Alberta"**_

* * *

 _ **Celosia Vale, 31, District 7  
Victor of The 81st Hunger Game.**_

* * *

 _"Gulf One Gulf One Gulf One Actual, this is Red Niner-Niner Actual ,over."_

 _"This is Gulf One Actual, I read you loud and clear, over."_

 _"Gulf One Actual our recon run is complete. You may proceed to rally point bravo, over."_

 _"Roger that Red Niner-Niner Actual, BOLO for sentry personnel. Standby for further instruction, over."_

 _"Copy. Good luck down there."_

 _Man,_ this beats mentoring any day of the week.

It fulfills me - Like a district dweller to their designated profession. Exploring the world of decades past, witnessing first hand the aftermath of the disasters and the results that came forth.

 _"_ Wow, look at it all. Half the city is submerged." murmured a female Peacekeeper. "I wonder what it was like, living during the disasters . . ." said another aloud.

"Stow it troopers, it's go time. Okay pilot, set her down steady." I say.

Done with the radio, I hook it back onto a nearby Peacekeeper's back. "Alright ladies, easy delivery run today! Just a quick in and out then we'll be home for chow."

The Peacekeepers quickly assemble their rucksacks as I stride over to the now opened hatch bay of the hoverplane, gripping a near by handlebar. The craft does a complete full turn, revealing the front facade of the dilapidated building from the ocean surface, to the roof.

I smile as I notice the **"Trump International Hotel and Tower Vancouver"** on the grime covered limestone near what was the entrance.

"Hey Vale, you 'oughta go to the Capitol and tell Persephone Trump that one of her family buildings still stands." a female Peacekeeper snorts.

I smile. "So what, she can refurbish this one and make even more dough than she needs? No thanks." this earns a couple snickers here and there as we reach the roof of the tallest tower in the city. A few figures already stand waiting on top, with a helicopter parked idle.

It seems our guest is already here.

One by one, each Peacekeeper dismounts from the craft, their rifles leveled as they scan the area for threats. A shriek can be heard overhead as two hoverjets do a loop-de-loop as they return back to the location in which they came from.

Clipping my rifle onto a magnetic plate on my back, I stride towards a _"Band Chief"_ Sally 'Two-Axe' Aines, who maintains a neutral expression unlike her bandanna clad guards, who seem antsy at best. The chief herself wore a beige buckskin jacket with blue dungarees. An intricate headband decorating her jet black braids, she looks nearly Asian to me, excluding her olive skin tone. Her guards on the other hand wore camouflage, their hair in braids or shoulder length.

"I'm glad you came Chief Aines. I take it you accept our offer?" I smirk, extending my hand. I grimace as she doesn't return the gesture.

"We don't want conflict. We have that enough with raiding tribes from the interior and Alberta." she speaks slow, and her accent makes it seem monotonous as a whole.

I smile, nodding in reconciliation as she raises an eyebrow. "Of course Chief Aines, Panem expects nothing more than mutual agreement. We use your lands for resources, you get your weapons and besides-" I nod off to her entourage, who still retain green versions of what appears to be an Panemian M16A2. _Snow_ , her archaic helicopters still have **_"CANADA"_** with a maple leaf roundel on the tail.

"You guys can use the hardware." she grunted a slight "Meh".

"It would be even more beneficial if your joined our union. Panem takes care of their own." I nearly puke at the verbal diarrhea that just dribbled from my mouth.

Aines laughs, enveloping my hand with a vice-like grip as she leans in closely. "Judging by the tall tales told by those who have _'left'_ your union, I think it is for the best for both parties to maintain a close working relationship." _good choice._

I flip my right wrist, checking my watch. _1000 hours._ "If you would excuse me, I have an engagement to attend."

She sends a nod my way. "Yes you do. I'm surprised your population takes abuse of that magnitude."

I ignore that remark, taking mental note to tell command to secure their radio channels and tighten highway patrols to pick off any stragglers.

 _"_ Okay Chief, expect your shipment in Whitehorse within the week." I motion for my Peacekeepers to load up for dust-off as the hovercraft disengages its stealth mode and hovers over the edge.

"And expect that you won't be fired upon if you log a tree or loot a city!" she waves, mounting her helicopter.

As our hoverplane zooms way, I truly wonder about the world at large and what those who live on the continent think about us as a whole. It's a rather interesting concept. As President Kane opens us up to the world, the more the Capitol's dirty little secrets come to light. Even our immediate trading partners are somewhat aware of our activities. I suppose it acts as a deterrent from aggression from other supposed communities. I wonder even further if there are any other developed nations like our own.

I pass off the thought, punching in the number to the Presidential Mansion.

"This is the President's office, operator speaking?" a youthful feminine voice answers.

"This is Victor Celosia Vale, queue me in for the Chief of Staff will 'ya?"

"One moment Ms. Vale. Might I add that I _loved_ your Hunger Game!?"

There's a slight pause before the other end rustles and picks up again.

"Gideon Montresor?"

"Hey Gideon, consider your request done." I say as a Peacekeeper taps me on the shoulder and reveals a GPS with our location. By five minutes time we'll be near Spokane.

"Ah, Ms. Vale. I knew you were the right pick for this little excursion! The Athabaskans are a reasonable tribe to deal with. President Kane and Minister Belliard thank you for representing Panem's interests. Expect another excursion clasp for your trouble."

I let out a laugh, easing myself into a parachute as the hangar bay hissed open to reveal a wide field of green. "I'll be in the Capitol to claim my commendation . . .say over drinks?"

"As long as no work is involved, I'll be down." he says gleefully.

"I know your motto, work mixed with leisure equals no-no. See you soon, friend." I hang up, connecting the phone back to the Peacekeeper as the squad waves their goodbyes. With a scream, I leap out into the open. I can feel my heart retreat further into my body as I cut through the air like butter to a knife.

This is where I belong, leading an exciting life, seeing the world, certainly not hacking down trees for a living, or moping around feeling sorry for myself. Celosia Vale- the Victor, was just a component of my life - I say, a component of my life that I consider partially over.

But as I pull my chute and land slowly onto a field right next to a empty highway, excluding my escort Simon- all excitement is seeped out of me and replaced with a heavy anvil known as boredom. Gone was "Celosia the Explorer" and in with "Celosia, Victor of the Eighty-First Games.". Simon, dressed in a navy suit, skinny rainbow tie and white pocket square, tapped his feet with annoyance as he leans against my ruby red '58 Zip Barracuda convertible.*

"You done playing soldier?" he quips, his smirk melting as I glare his way. I gesture to my keys which he rings around his finger and launches it into my waiting hands.

"You're cruising for a bruising pretty boy. Who said you can touch my convertible?" I grunt, checking over my possession for any marks.

He scoffs, "It was faster than the limousine. Now come darling, we have a reaping to attend." he takes the passenger seat as I slide over the hood and into the drivers seat, putting the key in and pressing the ignition button- reveling as the engine activates with a satisfying hum.

"Lets agitate the gravel shall we?" I smirk as the engine roars to life, my smile threatens to fall off my face as I pull a sudden u-turn and zoom into Spokane's city limits, all while Simon curses my name and threatens multiple times to have my baby impounded.

We make it in one piece, Simon's slicked hair is slightly askew but he tends to it with a comb. Pulling up to registration, I can't help but feel smug as the kids and adults alike gape and murmur with jealousy and awe alike. Some hood clad in leather and his hair resembling a ducks butt, alongside his poodle skirt clad girlfriend giddily step forward from their group of friends and observe the convertible as I pass the keys to a Peacekeeper, informing him to send it back to the Victors Village. Simon steps by as he proceeds to the stage.

"Check it out Zeke, she's got the latest barracuda! Too bad they don't have all the pastel colors though." coos his girlfriend.

"You are one _cool_ cat Ms. V! This is one _cherry_ '58 'cuda right here." he gushes as his hands caress the vented hood. "One of these days you 'oughta bring it around my old man's shop, we'll soup it up really good f-"

A squad of Peacekeepers begin to proceed in a single line, shoving straggling teens and parents alike towards the podium. One female Peacekeeper, no older than the couple that I was just conversing with- breaks formation and trains her rifle at us as the barrel glows blue with plasma. She doesn't make any distinction between me - a Victor, or the children as she cocks her rifle.

"Proceed to the square or face consequences!" she barks, her blue eyes filled with nothing but hate and contempt.

So we move, the children to their respective sections and myself being boxed in by a group of four Peacekeepers as I'm hustled to the front. If a couple of my friends were lured into a forest and blown to smithereens, I wouldn't be the most happy-go-lucky gal in town either.

The Governor is in the middle of giving his usual speech, with it ending as he announces my name right on cue. I wave, giving a faux bow as I take my seat.

Simon bops right up to the podium, giving the usual speech and pleasantries. As he walks to the bowls, I hope and plead that I get one or two decent tributes. I need someone worthwhile to alleviate me of this garbage. Snow knows the District could use a morale boost and I could use a break from escorting dead kids to and from the Capitol every year.

Apparently hacking at trees all year doesn't amount to much once the gong goes off, with a dozen of us being that one exception.

He whisks a slip from the boys' bowl. "Tamir Acker, a Mr. Tamir Acker? Come to the stage my darling!"

And just my luck, the fourteen year old section splits apart for a dark skinned boy in a teal tennis shirt and tan slacks. He's astonished at first, but as if he were possessed with an extra pair of gonads, the boy marches to the stage, takes over the podium, points directly at the cameras and says, "Don't cross me, it won't be fun."

Hmph. The crowd bursts into laughter as Simon struggles to refrain from joining in on the jest. "Ooooh, we have a feisty one!" he moves to the female bowl, "Here's hoping there's another fighter among your female friends, shall we!?"

He selects a slip, "Landry Danton . . . nice name that. Landry, _laundry?_ At least there won't be a mix up at school among the kids or something, Landry Danton to the front please!"

The fifteens make way for the blonde girl, wearing a short sleeved red polka-dot blouse, black flats and blue jeans. At first her mouth is agape, then she mutters as she makes her way up to the stage. Her lips are twitched into a frown all the while, as Simon is oblivious to the girls contempt.

"Your tributes everyone, Tamir Acker and Landry Danton!" the crowd cheers as my right palm slides down my forehead, enveloping my entire face.

What else can you do but hope and pray to the sun that the odds are well . . . _ever_ in my _favuh._

* * *

 _ **Ainsley Tisdayle, 19, District 12**_  
 _ **Victor of the 90th Hunger Game.**_

* * *

 _"Welcome to another round offffffffffffff . . . Q AND A; Hunger Games Edition! Panem's number one rated game show for ten whole years! Now before we begi-"_

 _*Click*_

 _" . . . Introducing the 2159 Zip! Starfire*. Now available in a speedy convertible, Victor-esque executive limousine or family sedan. The tailfins are even longer this year! Zip! - Get There."_

 _*Click*_

 _"Welcome everyone to the fourteenth season of The Marceline Devereaux Show! Today's guest, Vice President Viondra DeWynter. Now Madame Vice President, you look as beautiful if not more than before you had baby Matilda Frances."_

 _The Vice President bares a toothless grin. "Oh well thank you Marceline, one has to keep themselves in shape." she says, her tender voice low, calm and disarming._

 _"Who's the father! Tell us, tell us, the nation needs to know!" Marceline makes a faux gesture of swooning as the crowd yells in agreement._

 _The Vice President takes a sharp breath, "Welll, I c-"_

 _*Click*_

 _"This is CTV, Capitol Television!", the camera cuts to a panel of six members as they debate the politics of the day._

 _"President Kane is a loose cannon, you hear me! Not only is he the first politically independent to hold office, he's trying to shut down our most sacred institutions! Too much District autonomy will make the dissidents among them emboldened!" says one female strategist._

 _"More district autonomy allows them to manage their affairs more personally. I don't see any problem with that." says another "Liberal-Democrat Strategist"_

 _The other members gasp as if he'd said an expletive._

 _"Spoken like a true rebel. This is what I hate about liberals, you liberals HATE Panem!"_

 _"Huh? No one said anything about hating Panem, even the Ultranationalist Party, a mixture of the left and right wings seldom agre-"_

 _"Of course you don't have to say anything, its all overt action!"_

From there, the panel goes down hill from mudslinging to ad-hominem attacks. Personally, I can't wait until another four years for this crap to end. It seems like a pipe dream, yet so tangible. We'll just have to wait and see, and maybe- just maybe, we'll all go to war for the third time in history.

I click off the television, caressing my brain as the screams from both mutts and tributes alike come flooding in where the television offered temporary reprise from my haunts.

 _"It should've been you being mauled to death by mutts."_

I jump at the voice, swiveling towards the living room mirror as I see a boy, clad in a tattered olive green jacket. A dirty District 12 armband sits on his right arm . . . well most of his right arm that isn't a bloody jagged stump. His neck is partially bitten through, revealing shredded flesh.

"I didn't even remember your name . . . it was all such a blur." I murmur in astonishment, stumbling towards the boy. I'm on my knees now, crawling towards him as I look up in awe.

He offers no salvation, no pity as he glares at me from his boots. " _It was Colm, Colm Miller! At least I had a chance to make something of myself, maybe our district too!"_

I shake my head, refusing to acknowledge his partial truths. "You have no idea how _hard_ it is."

 _"Maybe, but at least I would've taken it in stride. You're a weakling, just like the Victors before you."_

" _Shut up_." I'm doing the best I can . . .maybe I should go outside some more, or run a secret career camp? I'm only _one_ person.

 _"Just end it all right now, there's no point in continuing!"_

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" I adjust my skirt as I dart around my living room, searching for something, anything!

 _"You're pathetic. Under my guidance we could've been kin-"_

"SHUT UP!" I shriek, tossing a lamp into the full sized mirror. It shatters, taking with it 'Colm'. With his figure no longer tormenting me, I sink to my knees- moaning as rapid knocks emit from my front door.

"Ms. Tisdayle, Ms. Tisdayle, please open the door!" a crisp Capitol accent mews, but I don't answer. The door opens anyway, as Francine - our Districts' escort, barges into the living room.

" _Snow's rose_ s, what have you done!? Come, we need to sort you out, unfortunately the reaping begins within the next hour!" taking off her white gloves, she hoists her purse onto my granite kitchen counter, rifling through it to retrieve what looks to be yellow pills. I don't object to her actions, still curled into a ball on the floor as she slips the pills into a cold water filled tumbler with a soft- audible hiss.

"History is history . . . that's just how it is Ms. Tisdayle!" she drags me towards the counter, placing me on a bar stool. "Maybe if you guys didn't bite the hands that fed you, the District would be on par with the others and you wouldn't be as stressed!"

"You don't have _any idea_ what it's like! Don't lecture me." I retort, swiping the drink from her hands and gulping it whole. Her apologetic demeanor is swapped with an annoyed one, albeit saddened.

I sigh, wiping my lips against my blouse sleeve. "Sorry Francine. Thanks for the pills." she lets out a slight sigh as we slowly stride to the front door.

She casually shrugs. "It's no problem. We're partners right? I may be new to this thing, but I care- I really do!", she hands me my coat and umbrella as we ease into a waiting limousine on the curl-de-sac.

I nod, "Of course, partners."

And as we drive and arrive to the town square, I'm reminded why I don't like going outside anymore.

"How uncivilized . . . They at least could've made the scene a little bit more. 'relaxed?" murmured Francine.

Sniper towers dot the town centre as Peacekeepers roughly prod people towards the Justice Building. Through the rain, you can see the lasers from their rifles casually roam the bodies of those in the crowd, ready to pick off anyone who tries anything haste. Just before the registration, a platform decorated with sandbags and a machine gun nest manned by two Peacekeepers, is situated off to the side where another Peacekeeper, judging by his trench coat and service cap- being a more senior officer shouts from a megaphone. A doberman barks haphazardly at the children who register feet away from it. Thunder rumbles in the distance as the children mutter among themselves.

" _NOW HEAR THIS,_ all youths eighteen and under must register for the reaping! Failure to adhere to these simple guidelines will ensure punishment!" he barks in a Capitol accent as a squad of Peacekeepers form a protective box around Francine and I. They move us past the platform as the children and adults alike gawk at me.

Francine and I struggle to refrain from squealing, gripping each others forearms as the dogs mouth slowly splits away into four jagged tendrils, as if the thing was spliced with a venus fly trap.

As I look around and see the vice-grip-like control the District is under- I think to myself _we're beaten_. As the rest of the nation moves on, the black sheep known as District 12 carries most of the burden all because a girl and her lovesick follower couldn't just go along with the program. I am now left with the pieces resulting because of their ignorance. Things are so desolate, the media only sent one camera crew to film.

It's only going to get worse from here I can tell.

General Wu, the so-called "Mayor" of our District as we're too small of a population to have need for a "Governor", announces my name as the Peacekeepers move me from the edge into the aisle, where they hustle me to my seat in a haste. Clad in the typical high ranking Peacekeeper garb, a trench coat and a service cap adorned with silver eagles and stars, the man commands attention and radiates confidence- his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes hidden behind black circular shades. He sports a wolfish grin as Francine and I bound up the steps and take our seats.

"Ah! Ms. Ainsley, Madame Francine, how nice of you ladies to join us." he points lazily towards the shivering youths below, "What did you think? That the brats would reap themselves?" he lets out a laugh.

"Erm - No, of course not General." Francine quips softly, taking her position at the podium as Peacekeepers position themselves at her sides, shielding her from the light rain with umbrellas.

" _Welcome, Welcome_ to the Ninety Fifth Annual Hunger Games! Yaaay!" Francine claps, frowning as her hands are the only ones emitting noise from the microphones. There is no response except a flurry of sniffles and coughs.

" _Well then_ , this is my first official Hunger Game with you all and I'm very delighted to have been offered this position! What a quaint town you got here, a couple years back my family and I took a trip up to the mountains not too far from here. Looking down at your District from such a view is a very _awesome_ sight ind-"

Francine pauses as a boy, obviously impoverished judging by the rags he sports as clothing - drops like a fly as he plops down in the mud. No one dares help the boy though, it happens too many times to evoke a reaction anymore.

"Excuse me, is the boy alright!? The reaping can be a anxious affair indeed." murmurs Francine as a boy from the eighteen year old section, which I peg as the butchers son, leans down on the boys chest.

"I don't think he's breathing! His eyes are still open but they aren't looking at anything- um . . . _specific, erhm.._ " grumbles the older boy as the crowd is washed with concerned murmurs.

"Who's is he?" shouts one kid.

"Where are his parents?!" asks another adult male.

Francine seems to be overwhelmed, naturally, earning a sharp * _ahem*_ from the General which causes her to snap back to reality. She walks to the females' bowl first.

"Well then, since we're on a tight schedule, we'll skip the film. I'm sure General Wu has already filled you in on our nations great history! Um- onto the girls first, then the boys!"

"Lumina Reiss, please join me on the stage."

The seventeens part for a town looking girl, sporting a pale, pastel green shirtwaist dress with a slim white belt with white Mary Janes. Judging by her look as I study her closely, she, like hundreds in this District, has transferred from another. Not PoW's from District 13, or train porters from 6. I would peg her to be from 3 or 5.

Her parents must have business ventures here and throughout the District. I would debate that transferees are a step up worse from town dwellers. They are much more poised, ten times as uppity. Lumina supports this fact as she strides to the stage with her head held high.

I instantly know that whatever stunt she's pulling now is a farce. If I were in her polished, pampered shoes I would be crying out to the sun- cursing about how unfair this system is. Although, it still was a good show of confidence.

The rain falls a little thicker now, the Peacekeepers actively following Francine to the boys' bowl as she scoops up a name. "Jai Matisse!"

Thunder roars above as the eighteens form a circle around - _oh, Jai._ The boy from the alleyway.

My heart sinks at how perplexed he looks, struggling to come to grips with his name being called. As the second round of thunder claps, he sprints, his feet pounding the mud as he tries to evade the Peacekeepers with no avail. His mother screams bloody murder as his father desperately tries to hold the crazed mother steady.

" _Not again! No,_ I'm not going back there! Let me go!" he screams, thrashing and punching at the Peacekeepers, the air. Before being dumped at the stage, an audible *Pop!* could be heard as General Wu strikes the hysterical Jai with a shock baton, rendering the boy unconscious.

"Your tributes District 12! Jai and Lumina. You may now resume your previous activities." Francine lets out a low sigh the youths slowly turn and head back into their respected neighborhoods. Lumina is escorted inside as Jai is dragged in, his parents not too far on his heels.

"I never really had much of an idea how bad it was out here."

I turn to see Francine staring out after the children, who continue to skulk away from the square. "Even though it very well seems like a pipe dream at the moment, let's try to do the best we can. It's the only plausible way."

I nod slightly, Jai is a miner and Lumina seems capable. I finally have an escort who doesn't look upon us with scorn, but rather mutual respect.

"Okay, let's see what we can do."

* * *

 _ **Zinnia Parsons, 16, District 11  
Victor of the Ninety-Third Hunger Game.**_

* * *

"How did you get this school again? And why does it look _ten_ times better than any orphanage I've seen?"

My hands glide over the pastel colored lockers. The sky tints the halls with a dull blue as dawn breaks over District 11. The only sound that could be heard is Paisley's heels clicking against the steps as we bound down them, opening the door to reveal another wing of the school entirely.

Since school let out over the weekend, Ms. Paisley invited me to spend the weekend with her students at her boarding school, which I gladly accepted. In big cities like Atlanta, orphanages can get congested and most of the time are left unchecked. Even though I lived out in Atlanta, which our Victors village was located, I much rather prefer my hometown of Macon, which this school is located. Much more open.

"The Linscott-Gordon School Community Home for Wayward Children." Paisley sighs as she caresses a marble pillar, "It'll be fifty years since we first took the place. My Mama, her mama, and her mama and so forth cared for the needy children while no one else could bother. Consider it a _family affair."_

She gestures towards a two way screen. Beyond it lies dozens of cots filled with babies, coded by a baby blue for the boys, or pastel pink for the girls. Nurses casually stroll between each row, gently nursing any baby who stirs from their sleep.

"Half of those nurses are former students _themselves._ It's a mighty fine system, orphan helping orphan. It makes us better when we all strive towards a common goal." states Paisley as she gestures me to the nearest door. "Come, let's head to the office. It's almost time to wake the kids up for the day ahead."

Ms. Paisley and I continue to wander the polished halls of her school, rounding a corner as we reach the school office. We pass a secretarial pool, its staff sparse due to the Reaping. Cigarette smoke hangs lazily in the air as big haired women type away at laptops or work telephones.

Entering her tastefully decorated office, I take a seat on a blue sofa as Ms. Paisley takes a seat on her leather swivel chair behind her wooden desk with intricate carvings. Above her, beyond the wine cabinet is a quote written in cursive-

 _"A family is a gift that lasts forever- a happy home is filled with love and laughter."_

"You asked why it looks better than most?" I nod. "Pure love. I could be seeking refuge with a needle like the sixes, or stray down a even more negative path like many Victors before us. Public work like this grounds me,"

She smirks, spinning her chair in a complete circle before pointing both her index fingers at me. "What about _you_ though. How are you holdin' up child?"

I shrug. I can't really complain. My games are apart of an intricate series of trends though this games' decade. A younger, crafty Victor taking the game in a shorter day lifespan. I only claimed two lives, I was in the arena and out within a blink of an eye, Paisley and Clarence were already Victors, shielding me from any exposure for the past two years while I continued through school.

Life has been decent. Sure, the events during my games does have a nagging toll, but I did what I had to do- and got out. I was just a younger kid from an outlying District out of many in my ninety-to-ninety-nine decade. A blip on the map.

And for that, I am happy.

"I am well, thanks for asking." I take a breath, watching as Paisley raises an eyebrow "My only concern is the reapings. Can't you guys jus' hold the fort until I get older?"

She shakes her head, moving a PA microphone close to her mouth. "I think that's also why you feel unaffected by the events that transpired. You have to get a taste of what you'll be getting into soon. If life were any different, you could've been like Gwen Faraday, or Ainsley Tisdayle - all on their lonesome."

I begin to object before she raises a finger, "Just watch us, take notes and listen. It ain't rocket science. Purely logic based."

I nod, smiling slightly as Paisley switches on the PA system. She tosses me a steel bar the size of my index finger as she motions for me to tap the xylophone on the side table beside me. I do what she asks, taping each key lightly in rapid succession from left to right.

Paisley clears her throat,

"Good morning students of Linscott-Gordon! I trust you slept well last night, _unless_ you were the Year 12 boys and girls. May I _remind_ you that Vice Principal Johnson will be in charge for the next week or so while I'm gone. So I remind you to please stay in the residential wing after the 11PM curfew bell. Remember the motto children- _'Girls stay in the girls' room, boys stay in the boys' room'._ If you must really dally around, please keep it in within the common room as it is open all hours of the night."

Paisley shuffles her papers while sucking in a breath of air before continuing on.

"Today is May the tenth, twenty-one-fifty-eight. You know what today entails so get dressed, prep your beds and head down to the common area for breakfast. Remember, the buses will be here to collect us by noon. _No dallying_ , y'hear! The buses will be designated by year. The Year 12A boys will be with the Year 12A girls and so on and so forth, the staff will direct you to your bus as well, so be sure to listen to your teachers. To get you down to the common room, some transition music! Everyone's favourite songs this side of Panem!"

As we strolled from the main office to the common room as students steadily trickled down from their dorms, we heard the likes of _"The Nakashima Brothers.- Sugar"*, "Barley Philips and the Sapphires- Personality"*_ and _"The Gulf Boys- Surf City*"._

By the end of the musical interlude, the common room was filled with students of all ages, divided by age group as they ate their food. From her friends in Atlanta, she was told they were only served porridge with maggots hidden inside due to the rancidity of the food they were served. Not at Linscott-Gordon, instead the children piled their plates with fat breakfast sausages and hot bowls of oatmeal, among other goodies in a buffet style. Their faces not ashen with hunger or despair, but filled with colour and health.

Another sign of Paisley's benevolence I noticed is the immaculate uniforms each child wore instead of the drab grey I usually saw in other community homes. Instead, they wore burgundy sweaters, cardigans, white tennis shirts or blouses, burgundy plaid skirts for the girls and gray slacks for the boys. In other cases, burgundy letterman jackets, I notice as a boisterous table filled with senior boys sporting the coats.

In a District filled with despair, hunger and overworked gardeners, it makes me joyed to see the less fortunate getting along like so few in this District do. Paisley in my eyes seems like the embodiment of a "Victor". Merciful, a beacon for their District and its downtrodden peoples.

. . . I wish I could say the same for a certain _sellout_.

Before Paisley, the staff and students along with myself could clear the common and head towards the buses, Clarence Linscott-Gordon, brother to Paisley and Co-Victor of the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games barges into the common with two other plain clothes officials.

Each one was dressed in the typical fashion most middle aged men dawn, a suit, skinny tie and rectangular pocket square with a fedora to boot. The armbands of Panem's flag on each of their biceps instantly peg them as "Districts' Affairs" officials, people tasked with promoting "good behavior" and insuring each of the Capitol's institutions are " _being upheld in accordance of the law."_

"Hello _Sister_ , Zinnia, staff and students!What a glorious day for a reaping, am I right?" he takes a senior boys' cup before he could object and drinks its contents.

"Hello Clarence, what brings you here today?" Paisley deadpans, striding towards her elder brother with her arms folded. She is neither unnerved or intimidated as the patriotic sibling lets out a howl of laughter.

"You know, I was just on my way towards the reaping when I thought- hey! Why not just stop by, check on my dear sister and her wards before popping on down to Atlanta for the _big_ day."

His hands clasped behind his back, he begins to wander between the rows of students. "You know . . . I saw you guys go in to eat, and that's all fine and dandy. My only problem is that I didn't hear any _music_. I just find it uncouth that you would partake in all this food without giving thanks to those who allowed it here anyway."

" _What_ are you talking about?" I say incredulously.

He laughs again, pointing to the portraits of Presidents Kane and Snow alongside Vice President DeWynter and Governor Wallace below them. "The pledge child! It's _music_ to my ears! It's okay though, we all make mistakes."

He turns to the unnerved crowd of students, "We can do it _now_ though, before we leave for our District's capital!"

He points to a little girl with blonde pigtails, her yellowed skin instantly pegs her as a result of an addiction while pregnant. The side effects bouncing to the child. "You there, lead us with the pledge!"

"U-Uh . . . um." she stutters, slowly making her way to the north side of the room where the portraits hang while playing with her fingers, she slips her right hand over her heart. "I, I-I-I Blossom G-Gi-Ginsberg-"

Sighing, I rush to the girls side, smiling as she gives me a thankful grin as I caress her back. I instruct everyone to stand and raise their right hands over their heart as we begin.

 _"I, Zinnia Parsons, do sincerely promise and swear to bear true allegiance to His Excellency, President Agesilaus Kane and his successors I do solemnly affirm. I, Zinnia Parsons, as well do sincerely promise and swear to be a faithful servant to Panem above all else, as a loyal citizen ought to do for their country, I do solemnly affirm."_

-and with that, the girls curtsy, as the boys bow towards the portraits. As I turn, Clarence is already out the door, laughing it up with his buddies as I scowl after him.

The day goes on without incident. Ten school buses is what it takes to transfer the hundreds of eligible orphans from the boarding school in Macon, to Atlanta. It was fun while the ride lasted, singing along to Panem's Billboard top 100 songs, and checking out the buildings and roadways before passing into the giant wall that boarders off Atlanta from the other surrounding cities.

Due to hundreds of thousands of children converging onto one city with an overall District population of nine million people, the process takes a while for each child to register and move to their section, which is why I am thankful that we're escorted into the Justice Building by none other than Governor Henry Wallace and his wife Darlene. An uppity and prideful man, always seen in his navy suit, bow-tie and colourful pocket square with a tan stetson to boot.

"Ms. Linscott-Gordon, how are you on this mighty fine day?" the suave Governor kisses Paisley's hand, before ruffling my hair. "Oh- look Darlene, it's little Zinnia! How are you child? How's your ma and pa doin'?"

He escorts us into his chilly office. "Ya'll stay up here where is nice and cool now, y'hear? I'll fetch for you when I'm all done."

After an hour of watching his speech on his television, Octavia, our escort since I first was reaped happily receives us and escorts us back outside to moderate applause, where Clarence sits next to two other empty seats. Easy to say I took the one farthest from him. Before the festivities begin, the anthem is played. I watch with disdain as Clarence, like the good lapdog that he was- stands rigid as the anthem comes to a close.

Octavia, dressed in a cream sleeveless blouse and teal skirt takes her place at the stage, next to the giant switch as a random child's name pops up on the jumbo-screen. "Welcome everyone to the Nintey-Fifth Hunger Games! Now it's _really_ hot out, I heard they were selling slushies around here! Bare with me for one moment as we select two brave children to represent their District. Boys first of course."

She pulls the switch as a pinging sound resonates through the square. The last face that flashes on the screen is an older boy, dark skinned.

"Cian Landon! Oooh, I like that name. Please come to the stage my friend!"

The eighteens part for a boy, wearing black jeans with rolled up cuffs, a black leather jacket, fitted white t-shirt, winklepicker boots and a red bandana under a black fedora. He has the look that most of the boys go for across the country. "Greasers" or "Hoods" as the public service announcements call them.

At first, Cian is shocked, who wouldn't be right? But then, if you look closely- he sighs as his lips twitch into a smile. He bounds up to the stage, seemingly resigned in his fate. Clarence and Paisley nod in acceptance as the boy tucks his hands in his pockets.

"I like your style!" cooes Octavia, pulling the female lever. "My younger brother also wears that ensemble. I bet like him, you also dabble in a little trouble here and there!"

Cian shrugs sheepishly as the screen lands on a much younger girl. "Marcia Mata, please come to the stage darling."

I can almost hear the sigh of relief, from Clarence and Paisley as the thirteen year old girl sprints down the aisle and up to the stage. She wears a cotton white shirt, a denim jacket and matching jeans as she pumps the hands of everyone on the stage. The Peacekeepers, the Governor, the Mayors, myself, Clarence and Paisley,

 _Everyone._ It'd help a lot when it comes to the Capitol, much better than crying.

Octavia couldn't help but "Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwh" as the young girl pumped her arm. "Hiya' miss Octavia, the name's Marcia, but people call me "Cia"! I like Cia better! I like climbing trees, my Mama thinks I'm pretty smart, which I probably am. We're not all that rich so things are hard to get by, but I don't let that bug me one bit! Besides I sing for some pocket change, so it all works out! You wanna hear something now, OK! Here I go! Lolipop by the Barbarettes!

 _Lollipop lollipop_  
 _Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop, lollipop_  
 _Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop, lollipop_  
 _Oh lolli lolli lolli, lollipop! *****_

She makes the iconic * _Pop!*_ with her inner cheek, but before she can barrel on, Octavia covers her mouth before kneeling to her level. "I think that's enough sweetie. Maybe at the Capitol we can hear more of those golden pipes." Cia nods happily as Octavia moves out of the way, exposing the two chosen tributes to the world.

"Your tributes for the Ninety-Fifth Games, Cia and Cian!" she says as the crowd cheers politely, before both are taken inside the Justice Building.

"That wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be." I say, smiling as Paisley nodded in agreement.

"The girl _can_ sing . . . cuteness can help, judging by the amount of younger Victors we've had."

Clarence shrugs. "The boy isn't too bad either. Although his parents were rebel soldiers. They live out in Birmingham, not a problem but'll keep and eye on the boy. I'm not a fan of the greaser types. You two take after Marcia."

Okay. That dog can fetch. Things are a long shot no matter what you do, but hey - at least these two have some form of promise. Just go with the flow, It's what I've been doing my whole life.

* * *

 _ **Annabelle Starling, 30, District 10  
Victor of the 83rd Hunger Game.**_

* * *

"C'mere piggy! Come to mama, I ain't gonna bite."

I launch myself at the pig, growling as it narrowly escapes my grasp. The pig *Oinks* in an eerily comparison on par with a mocking laugh, as it slinks off to a corner of the the stall and watches me from the corner of its eye.

Like them boys in them Captitol western films, I take a swig of my ale, slowly moving off to the corner in which the pig grazes the ground below it. Grabbing the back loop of my pants, I hoist it upward as I spread my knees and arms wide.

"Alright Oinky, it's go time. Pops want's you in the other shed for cleanin'. Which means, you'll be on _someones_ dinner plate soon. You had a good run little piggy, but your ticket is punched!" I lunge, grappling the pig as it squeals lightly. It thrashes angrily as I encircle its head in the nook of my right arm.

Easy . . . relax, just a little more assertion _anddddd-_

I sigh as the piggy lets out one final squeal before an audible *pop* can be heard as its body slumps in my arms. I finish off the ale, tossing the brown bottle into a empty barrel before casting another glance at the still pig beside me.

"Good game oinky." I slap it's belly, "You died a good death. My family will enjoy eating you tonight."

"That's _beyond_ disgusting."

I turn to see my sister Gracie regard me with a queasy look on her face, With her pony tail and prissy little spring dress along with them studded glasses of hers, she's far beyond the down and dirty type most of us from District 10 live up to. In fact, she's just about the smartest girl I know this side of Fort-Centurion. She want's to be _governor_ someday. I say go ahead.

"So? You'll eat it anyway." I taunt, hauling the pig over my rigid shoulders.

Gracie quickly shakes her head, backing away as I pretend to toss the dead thing at her. "Yeah, but I'd rather see it at a Steinberg's grocery store, _frozen_ , than dead with a busted neck."

"Yeah yeah whatever, four-eyes." I toss the pig into a wheelbarrow as she follows me up to the Starling family home. Our eighteen-year-old twin brothers Wyatt and Abraham join us just as we reach the three story homestead, with groosling hanging off of branches they carry across their shoulders.

I give Wyatt the wheelbarrow. "Send this to Pop's garage will 'ya?" to which he says "Sure thing Annabelle!"

"I'm gonna enjoy the feast we're havin' tonight, yesiree!" hums Abraham as Gracie scoffs.

"As long as the meat is properly stored, cleaned and cooked, I have no problem. There's a lot of pathogens in poultry and swine alike."

Abraham and I don't have to think twice. "Shut up, Gracie." we say in unison, as Gracie mutters something along the lines of "Don't say I didn't warn you . . ."

Before we could open the fancy glass door, it already barges open, Mama hitting our sixteen year old brother Thomas with a wooden spoon. Falling before our feet? A steamy magazine issue of "Capitol Couture." who's on the front cover? The escort from District 3, _Doris McKenzie_ \- positioned on her knees, pinky in her mouth as she bared her pearly white teeth in her college cardigan-

 _Just_ her college cardigan.

"Get that filth from out of my house! Make sure _first_ thing in the morning that you head to confession, do you hear me young man?"

"Yes *ow!* ma'am! *Ouch!*"

We move past them, assuming that was the end of the shenanigans for one day. _Nope_! Not in the Starling household, we're a happy go lucky family. Your typical large clan who loves their Sunday dinners and constantly bicker even at the smallest of transgressions. Its what makes the Starling family, the Starling family! We might fight and push each others buttons, but its all out of love at the end of the day.

"Gracie, I broke your fighter jet model by accident.." murmurs our five year old sister Jubilee. Zeus, our family rottweiler barks, zooming to the front door and laying his front legs on my thigh, to which I caress the top of his head.

"Oh my god, _Jubilee!_ Ugh, now it's going to take me forever to put that back together!"

"Daddy! I can't find my other mary-jane!" squeals twelve year old Gemma who bounds down the stairs.

"Sweetie, it's in the closet- hey Annabelle, how are you doin' darlin'? Abraham, Wyatt, before you get ready, I need you for a second," Pops kisses my cheek as I bound down the stairs and into my old room for a shower. Switched into a black leather corset and dark blue jeans with my favourite pair of deep brown boots, I head back down the stairs as my family, already dressed, gathers around the television as the Reapings begin and conclude across the country.

"No matter what happens today, just let it be known that Daddy loves you all, y'hear?" Pops sheds a tear as Mama and my siblings embrace in a group hug. The doorbell rings, followed by the subdued neighs of horse.

As I open the door, I'm instantly greeted our district's twenty-something-year old escort Harriet, alongside her black stallion Pegasus and my mustang Neigh-Neigh. Harriet has a family ranch out here as a summer home of sorts. So I suppose she's no stranger to the outdoors.

With her hair in a brunette braid that hangs over her left shoulder, she wears slim tan breeches, a white blouse and a blazer sporting what appears to be a family crest of some sort. Sporting a sparkling white smile supported by ruby red lipstick, she takes one wide step forward -our faces a mere couple of inches from each other.

"I am here to collect you for the reaping. Don't tell me you _forgot_?" says, giggling into my face. Her eyes shine like sapphires as she leans in even further, her hands covering my cheeks as she gently forces her lips onto mine.

The relationship we have is . . . _hush-hush,_ I doubt anyone really knows unless you're a government spook of some sort.

"Awwh, look at you, caring about little ol' me." I say, Harriet backing away as she notices the rest of the Starling family packing into a pink station wagon, only before saying their sheepish hello to the woman who could possibly reap them and their children.

"Of course, I don't peg myself for the mentoring type." she sashays to Pegasus, her breeches highlighting _all the right features_. "Come, let's be on our way."

I kiss Neigh-Neighs forehead, before mounting the royal blue saddle. "Alright, last one to the Justice Building is . . . a loser." I lightly jerk the reigns, cheering as Neigh-Neigh bolts towards town, Harriet and Pegasus right behind us as we dart down the field and towards the Fort Centurion.

I nod in greeting towards the Peacekeepers mounted on stallions themselves as they direct the adults to the side. Out here they look less intimidating, exchanging the helmeted visor with a black stetson, boots and gloves with white breeches with black lines on the side. We dismount the horses at a mobile Peacekeeper station, moving swiftly though the crowds as Governor Connally finishes up with his annual speech.

With light cheers, Harriet and I bound up the stage as the governor, in his tan suit, black bow-tie and stetson formally introduces us both. Harriet gets decent applause as the Governor takes his place beside his wife. Harriet's situation is unusual, she has footing within the District, but due to her occupation, there's an awkward tension as this is the same woman who reaps our children, marking them for death every year.

Although, 10 is rather loyal now, resigned to the Hunger Games being a nagging feeling when it comes around every year.

"Howdy District 10! Welcome everyone to the Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favour!" she goes over the film, the acknowledgements, then walks over to the switch as a random males face appears on the screen. "Lets begin with our female tribute." she tugs the switch as we all watch the screen land on a petite fourteen year old girl.

"Joelle Castro! Please come to the stage." says Harriet as the aisle parts for the girl now. A long sleeved blue blouse, tucked into some black dress pants, and black flats. Her hair is put up in a bun.

I groan as she begins crying all the way up to the stage. I'm an optimistic gal, but her bawlin' is just putting a whole lotta' negativity on my vibes. I roll my eyes as Harriet pats the girls shoulders.

"It's okay Joelle, no need to fret! I'm sure things will look up for you soon. Now, onto the male tribute that will accompany you!" Harriet tugs the switch, smiling as it lands on a dark skinned boy.

"Tybalt Moranthyfis! That sounds _extremely_ Capitol. Tybalt, please come to the stage."

The sixteens part away for Tybalt, wearing a green collared shirt and khaki slacks. His brow furrows in fury as he looks as though he wants to hit something, but restrains himself as he makes his way to the stage. Wyatt and Abraham tell me about him all the time. Very charismatic and suave, yet is known for his bullying. Very fluent with his words . . . what do you call them folks? Silver tongued? I suppose that's what the fella is then, I conclude as Tybalt eyes up Joelle like a python does its next meal, its almost as if he's formulating a plan of sorts.

"Alright District 10, your tributes for the upcoming Hunger Game, Tybalt and Joelle!"

I can probably work with that . . . As for the girl, of course I can try and work with her! I definitely wouldn't appreciate someone leaving me all high and dry. There's always potential if you look hard enough. I won't push my luck, however. The Games are a volatile thing, sometimes your tributes aren't your adventuring, athletic types like the Celosia Vales and of course, Annabelle Starling.

There could be an Annabelle Starling in them, _however._ All it takes is a little coaxing on my part.

* * *

 _ **Just as the war came to a close in 2145, newly elected President Marcellus Fox looked for a way to keep the population "pacified". He wanted a Panem that was patriotic and loyal, yet indulgent and industrious enough that the general population would be weary to ever want to usurp the Capitol again. With the help of decorated bureaucrat Gideon Montresor, President Fox and his administration cracked open the history books, opened old archives and looked for a model to emulate a period in which life was stable and booming. Patents were sold to old songs and cars alike, fashion designs from old adverts and magazines were given to the fashion design community and voila! Panem fell in love with all things vintage. This love affair seeped into all forms of life.**_

* * *

 ** _*Maroon 5- Sugar*(2015)_  
*Lloyd Price- Personality (1959)  
*Jan and Dean- Surf City (1963)  
*The Chordettes- Lolipop (1959) **

***58 Barracuda= Late 1950s Maserati 3500 GT  
* Zip! Starfire= Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz**

* * *

 **Thedewynterdynasty. wordpress dot you know what.**

 **I'm constantly updating that site to make it look better. Check there every now and then for what I would consider my universe' take on Panem's everyday life.**


	8. Reapings Pt Three

_**Haus Der Toten; The 95th Hunger Games  
Reapings; Part Three. **_

* * *

**_Note from Tyler:_** _Woo hoo! I'm finished the reapings.. and only two years late. If any of you guys are keen, I'd love to know your opinion on who your favourite was out of all these people? What you liked in general? Now that everything is all said an done? If you'd like, I'd truly appreciate it. Also, 10K words a little too much, but that's due to the extra District (Snow Island) added into the fray, so there was a backlog, ontop of all this extra fat. Thanks for skimming/reading. I appreciate it once again. Up next, the trains and an extra "Headcannon" chapter._

* * *

 ** _In Panem, the office of "President" is often central to all political affairs and decision making, but behind that man or woman is a 338 seat National Assembly, consisting of men and women elected across the country, representing different areas within their respective District's and Capitol. There's also an 105 seat senate consisting of hand picked individuals by the President. Once upon a time, Panem even had a "Prime Minister" the overall system being a nod towards the many Canadians who had emigrated inward. The position is vacant._**

 ** _. . . Alas, due to conflicting agendas and power hungry individuals, the decision-making process is very muddied. With the "Ultranationalist" party, a "big-tent" merger between all sides of the 'Left-Right' spectrum, taking majority control over every level of government. The purely left-wing "Liberal-Democrats", a nod to the American Democrats and Canadian Liberals, takes a close second as the solid moderate left._**

 ** _All in all, it's safe to say that regardless, many citizens are still left in the cold._**

* * *

 _ **Glisten Hemingway, 30, District 1  
Victor of the 89th Hunger Games.**_

* * *

What a breezy, _easy-going_ day for a reaping . . . if you could even call it that in District 1.

"Hey Mister Hemingway, I wanna be just like you when I get older!" cries a little brown girl in a frilly dress and long pigtails. I give the girl thumbs up, before telling her to eat all her vegetables and keep hacking away at her practice dummy with the tomahawk she showed me.

"Heyy Glistennnn . . ." purrs a dark-skinned trainee as she and her friends quickly wave and giggle as I send them a smirk. I ought to get back in touch with her when the games are all said and done.

"Hey Glisten, how are you today? Looking handsome as ever." says a woman double my age. I shoot her a wink as she takes a drag of her cigarette. Asian, black, young, old, Capitol, not-Capitol, I don't mind, I love them all- and _they_ love me and will continue to love me until the end of time. I'm forever immortalized within the fabric of this District and the country at large.

. . . And I loveit. Sure, us careers might get some "flashes" every now and then, _Snow- all_ Victors have secrets, myself included, but those don't hold a candle to the fame, desires and luxuries no average Joe can think beyond their wildest dreams.

The shapely twin skyscrapers that are ironically named the _'Gloss & Cashmere'_ towers* glimmer in the distant Helena skyline as Panem's music hits play throughout Main Street. Children, youths and adults of all ages laugh and talk merrily among themselves. Picnic tables and refreshment stands serve as a refuge from the long queues to the attractions. There's a clown that gives you face paintings . . . a kit of dancing raccoons- _weird,_ dunk your teacher . . . you name it and it's here among the masses of fair-goers.

No fair would be complete without decorations. Each building is decorated with Capitol and District 1 seals alike. A _"HAPPY HUNGER GAMES!"_ banner is raised across two buildings just before the perfectly manicured field approaching the Justice Building. It isn't District 1 without LaGuardia trainees showing off their respective clique as they walk throughout the fair.

I notice the likes of Bubbles O'Shea and her gang of _"The Yellow Ladies"_ decked in the obvious _\- yellow_ leather jackets as they all cast a flirty wink my way. My former clique before taking on the mantle of "Victor" the _"Phi Gamma Epsilon"_ all call out in a celebratory greeting as I wave their way. I still wear the neon blue accented leather jackets we call our own.

It's something of a tradition here in District 1, a celebration of the system that saves countless children's' lives each year. While some kid in District 5 shakes at the knees at the _mention_ of Reaping Day, everyone in District 1 is yukking it up and playing whack-a-mole. Unlike other portions of the country, District 1 knows its place in the system and because of that, we are rewarded with privileges such as a street fair on Reaping Day, not a funeral march like the majority of the other Districts you see in the recaps.

Shirah, a good friend of the chosen female, flags me down as her friends lounge around a pop stand. I join them, nodding my thanks as Peridot tosses me a Pepa-Cola cherry.

 _"So,_ word around the Capitol TV webpage is that you and Kaiser are in a new action flick?" asks Shirah, batting her eyes as she sips her pop from a straw.

"Yup, you guessed right!" I say, taking a sip of Pepa-Cola cherry.

"Well!" she yearns, jabbing my shoulder as I steady my drink from sloshing out the bottle. "Tell us about it!"

I wave her off. "Alright alright alight! _Jeez_. Keep your mouth shut, but it's another "Marcellus Clay _" movie.._ Kaiser plays a Marcellus while I star as the loose cannon sidekick that kicks ass and takes names. Should be out by August the . . . ninth?"

"Awesome!" says Peridot, as he shoots his empty pop bottle into a nearby garbage can. "It's been a while since I've looked forward to a new movie."

Sparkle, _"Glamazon"_ president and also a trainee, rolls her eyes as she lets out a slight burp. "I don't know _how_ you guys can be as upbeat as you are. This is our _fifth_ last reaping until we don't have any more games! Then what do we do after the fact, make luxury fridges and mine jewels all day long!?"

I shake my head, waving off her concern as Peridot mimics my gesture. "Please, the country will implode no matter what happens. There's no way the rest of the national government would allow him to upturn the country. We'll just have to wait and see."

"I agree with Peri, _I_ -" I'm about to give my tidbit before a vibration emitting from my leg cuts off my thought.

 _"Come. Things are about to kick off."- Kaiser._

I show everyone else the text as they nod and begin moving towards the square. It seems the Peacekeepers are doing the same as well, kindly directing people to the giant square. Again, you'll _never_ see this anywhere else.

Within five minutes time I'm at the edge of the stage, blushing as Cessna, bubbly as ever, plants a kiss on my cheek. I stick my tongue out as Zenira, the abrasive one out of all of us, jeers at the gesture and shoving Kaiser away as the older victor ruffles my hair. The paparazzi are starting to get even more invasive, taking candid shots as they shoot questions at us from a distance.

Living up to the District 1 mantra, we ignore their pleas. They don't deserve our full attention.

"Here we are ag _ain_ " says Cessna, her creaky voice sounding like as if she were trying to stimulate forty years of chain smoking. "The rat pack is a _ll here_."

Kaiser shakes his head, running a comb through his slick brown hair. "All we need is the queen bee and our lovely escort and we'll be whole again."

"Op!" Zenira points towards a distant street, "There she is, her royal highness is on her way!"

A motorcade pulls into the west loop as media descends like vultures onto the limousine. Serene Westenfluss, recently elected Governor of District 1 in a landslide election, and a decorated Pre-War Victor to boot, steps out of the car- decked in a navy power suit with phone in ear. Our escort, Rouge, ebbs towards us as the oblivious press swoop in on the workaholic Governor.

"I'll call you back Gideon- _what_ do you fools want this time!?" Serene barks, frowning as the questioning gets even more intense.

"Governor Westenfluss!" shouts an Asian Capitol woman, "Jaclyn Takeinowa, PBC- Panem Broadcasting Corporation! What do you think about Presidents Kane's controversial proposal!? Do you think the referendum will pass and the Hunger Games will be no more?!"

"Madam Governor, Hermes Lancaster, CTV- Capitol TV- When do you plan to roll out your budget!?"

"Ms. Serene, Chad Blakely, LYNX News! Do you think President Kane is a Liberal-Democrat, posing as a independent!?"

"Serene Serene, Capitol Couture here, what colour is that lipstick you're wearing?!" coos a Capitol reporter, earning incredulous glares from myself, the other Victors, and everyone spectating the scrum.

"What?" she says defensively, "The people _deserve to know!"_

The assault continues forward. _"Serene! Serene!, Ser-"_

They were instantly shut up with a wave of the hand. "Thank you for your honest and eager journalism. I believe President Kane has a good head on his shoulders. Let the chips fall where they may. Now please enough politics! Let's enjoy Reaping Day!" she beams, adding a air-headed giggle on top as the hungry press is blocked off by a squad of Peacekeepers. The smile instantly turns into a deep scowl as Zenira sniggers.

"Spoken like a true politician." I say, as we begin walking towards the stage among the mass of reporters and cheers from the ecstatic audience.

"A politician who also happens to be a Hunger Game Victor on top of it all, Props where props are due, you handle it all well." adds Kaiser, who unbuttons his suit jacket as we bound the steps. "-And I thought being an actor on top of a Victor was hard. I wonder how you do it without tossing yourself out your office window."

"I'm a Westenfluss!" says Serene, who proceeds forward to the glass podium as Zenira, Cessna, Kaiser and I take our seats on velvet thrones next to the already seated mayors. "Politics and all its succulent traits- are in my blood."

The field, that was once expansive and large with a grand fountain in the middle, was now filled with youths and adults alike as cheers flooded the square. The three-story buildings that surround the Justice building on all four sides of the square as well are dotted with spectators as they gaze towards the stage. Following Kaiser's lead, Zenira, Cessna and I wave towards the audience as they chant our names.

The crowd begins to settle as Serene taps the chrome microphone.

"Hello everyone, how's the carnival for you all this afternoon?!" the crowd responds with a deafening roar as Serene lets out a laugh. "Good, good. I'm glad you're enjoying the festivities so far!"

She instructs us to rise for the anthem, to which we do. As the anthem ends, the customary video and the usual speech is finished, Serene vacates the podium somewhat. "Everyone, please give a warm District 1 welcome to your escort, Rouge!"

The crowd cheers as Rouge sheepishly moves from her seat, waving as the crowd settles just a few notches. The twenty year old woman wears a thigh-length red sequin dress, white stockings, long red gloves and a beaded necklace with a red feather over her black short bob. Her dark skin glows as red as her dress as she calmly settles the crowd.

"Thank you, _thank you_ for the warm welcome. This is my first year as your escort and I hope to make you all very proud!" she shields her eyes as she scans the audience, "Now, District 1, _welcome welcome_ to the ninety-fifth Hunger Games, are you as excited as you seem?"

The audience roars as the jumbo screen switches to a random girl within the District. All of a sudden, the screen flickers to three Greek alphabets. _Phi. Gamma. Epsilon._ From each marble pillar of the justice building, rolls down three black banners- with the Greek letters painted in neon blue. The crowd washes into a sea of murmurs, as my snickers turn into a loud guffaw. A couple of others within the audience seem to laugh as well.

" _PHI GAMMA EPSILON BITCHES_ WOOO, _HA-HAAAAH!"_ a female yells from the eighteens, as the rest of the gang howls with laughter. Zenira and Cessna begin to laugh too, as Kaiser shakes his head grinning all the while, only to straighten up as Serene casts him a hardy glare.

Serene attempts to reprimand the group for the sake of the cameras. "Trainees, get your hairspray coated butts _up here_ and take town those banners, before I make your scrub every inch of this building!"

And they do, giggling all the while as boys and girls clad in their neon Gamma jackets begin tugging down the banners. _Yep._ Only in District 1 are reapings ever this lively. It's only customary that a practical joke is played out before the nation. Last year Shirah, Sparkle and their gang paineded the marble pillars red with pink hearts and signed it all off with a "G" for "Glamazon" in cursive. Kaiser made them do a twenty minute non-stop cooper run around the track at LaGuardia.

"Well then," Rouge clucks her tongue at the trainees as she grips the switch, "Females first." she flicks the switch as the screen scrambled, while a jingle played throughout the square. The screen freezes on a fourteen year old Asian girl.

"Cleo Shimme-"

"I volunteer as tribute!"

As expected, we watch as the eighteens part for a brunette, clad in a red jacket typical of a "Glamazon" adherent, alongside tights and red pumps. She stops, high-fiving and hugging Shirah and her friends before confidently following the Peacekeepers towards the stage. She has trained since birth. She isn't the rare case of a hard-headed volunteer who thinks she's above it all. She has a level head, committed to her craft alongside a District, friends and a Capitol that will love her every step of the way.

She's ready.

"The name's Luana Evison, pleased to meet you Rouge."

"Very good!" Rouge's ruby red lips spread into a toothy grin as she grips the switch again, groaning as she flips it once again. "Boys, it's your turn."

"Emerald Carter!"

"I volunteer as tribute!" a voice cries, as the eighteens part for a handsome yet boyish looking young man decked in dark clothing- neat dress pants and a nice button up shirt. He stops to shake the hand of twelve year old Emerald, who seems to have retained the colour in his face after being initially reaped. He hugs a female friend of his, alongside another male friend.

"And your name handsome?" coos Rouge.

"The names Vincent Barlow!" he yells into the microphone, earning cheers from the crowd."

Rouge smiles, raising each tributes hand in the air. "Your tributes District 1, Vincent and Luana!".

The two are escorted into the Justice Building among frantic cheers and chants of their names.

Zenira, Kaiser and Serene nod towards Cessna and I as we return the gesture. Cessna takes Vincent as I take Luana. Zenira and Kaiser will run sponsor courting while we run the main event- the tributes themselves . . .

Let's get cracking.

* * *

 _ **Piper Malveaux, 19, District 5  
**_ _ **Victor of the 91st Hunger Games**_

* * *

To some, the rain always carries a sense of gloom and depression. To people like myself it always brings a soothing, easygoing feeling about it. You know- a day that's only good for lounging around, doing a chore or two or even tending to a hobby?

Yeah, one of those type of days.

Well, if you're above nineteen like me and my classmates, then today could be one of those days. Even then, you probably have a sibling that could be snatched up to fight, so no one can _really_ have one of those days _today of all days._

I gaze out the window, watching the sky that's now coloured a dull-pink, as a wall of rain splatters against the pavement and drips down from the canopy. Students on their way to their dorms sprint though the empty courtyard, screaming in surprise and joy as the rain begins to blow sideways, bringing leaves and light debris with it. The cars keep driving however, the window makes them out to be blobs of pastel colours and yellow and red lights. The slight _whirr_ and claps of thunder could be heard from even inside this classroom.

We're watching- well, _trying_ to watch _"Captain Panem: Rise of the 13 Marauder"_ if it weren't for all the rain and the constant alert broadcasts. Any other day, we would be learning business administration, the diploma of choice in District 5. Just as our Peacekeeper-turned-super-soldier heroine is about to break into the rebel lair;

 _ **"ALERT NOTIFICATION SYSTEM**_

 _ *********MINISTRY OF ENVIRONMENT issues warning for following regions: District 9 South-East, District 11 North-Central, District 5 North-West*********_

 _ *********The event type is: TORNADO/ THUNDERSTORM Watch**********_

 _ **Take the proper precautions needed and watch necessary media for updates. This is not a test."**_

"Awww, c'mon we were just getting to the good part! . . . stupid weather alert." mutters one student.

With that, the fun is over as our Professor, as Ms. Nolan, flips a light switch while causing the room to come back to life with a series of moans and mutters from those who took the time to catch a few Z's. Tired heads popped up from their desks, eyes were wiped, and articles of clothing were adjusted while lipstick marks were wiped away.

"I'm sure there will be a re-run later tonight anyway." says Professor Nolan, "It is now 12 o'clock! The reaping should begin in about an hour and thirty minutes from now. You may move to the main conference hall to watch it on the widescreen, or those of you who have a more . . . _personal_ investment, may go to the public arena to view the reaping in person. Don't forget, your commencement ceremonies are next month! I hope you guys never forget the lessons learned here at Trinity University, use them well! Until then-"

The class begins to assemble their belongings, but I'm already part way out the door, ignoring the glances of sorrow and pity as I wave goodbye. Despite the soft stares and the _hi's and hellos_ I receive from the other students, I relegate myself to curt smiles and soft _hey's_. They'll never understand the Victor's plight, some try to, but it's for the best to keep away, as I don't want to overwhelm them with my feelings of the subject. I am no longer a meager pawn, as my role within this little world of ours has gotten much larger-a world of secrets and loneliness with a tinge of uncertainty.

I'm in the foyer of the main campus hall now, smiling softly as Quinton sends a small wave my way. He stands outside, under an umbrella as a limousine waits idle beyond the doors. His purple suit decorated with thunderbolts plays right into the District 5 theme.

"This weather is dreadful!" I hear him say outside the glass window, "The sooner we're on the train, the better!"

I never get used to the constant stares, I feel them as I move though the glass doors, saying my thanks as a dark-skinned student kindly opens a door for me.

I too would be astonished if all you did was simply outlast the outlast the Gamemakers for ten whole days as they literally rained fire down upon you through many different shapes and forms- one of those including a _fire-breathing phoenix._ They probably think I'm a freak or a shut in or something . . .

"There's my little college girl! How was the program for you Piper, did you like it?" Quinton says, motioning for the chauffeur to get going.

"Yeah, it was okay I guess." I admit, smiling as he playfully brushes his knee against mine. "See? You're fitting in! Maybe you can get a job with the _Trinity Corporation!_ I find it weird that they have a college too. They have _waaay_ too much of a monopoly on this place." he dawdles on, his eyes gazing out the window.

"Not really, I have acquaintances but no true friends." I try, but I don't want to push or freak them out as I said.

He sighs with understanding. "Don't you worry- you'll be among people who adore your every move, and Victors who understand you. Gwen will be there, and Zinnia.". I've become quite the pen pal with those two, and Ainsley as well, chatting online and the phone, as well as visiting them. It'll be fun to see them again for sure. Being surrounded by people not like the others would be a relief.

We arrive at the sporting arena, converted to fit the youths and the spectators. We are lead by Peacekeepers through the service hallways, turning left and right, until we reach the stage and the polite applause of thousands as Governor McNamara announces my name. The children are seated where the playing court would be, divided by age as the spectators take up the outer rafters.

We take our seats. I can't help but feel an ironic sensation, hosting a reaping inside a sporting arena, as if marking a child for certain death is a sick game. _It is a sick game._

I must've blanked out, as the video and speeches are over and Quinton has his hands on the switch. "Boy's first!" and with that, the screen scrambles until it lands on a picture of a curly haired boy with browline eyeglasses. "Occo Barst, my friend, please come to the stage!"

"NO!"

All eyes dart towards the sixteens, as Occo seems to be in a state of panic. It's unknown to me if this is a new occurrence, or customary judging by his reaping photo. His clothing doesn't paint a swell picture either, as he wears some shoddy number- a shirt with patches and stitches where the tears are.

"You can't take me, I don't deserve this! NO, NO NO!" he's crying now- no, he's angry? "Why ME- what did I ever do, I've always been a good guy- one of the good guys, not a bad guy, honest!" he babbles, shrieking as the Peacekeepers scoop him from out of his seat and dump him on the stage. Quinton backs away in shock as Occo takes out a miniature statue of some sort, smashing it against the floor. The Peacekeepers had to restrain and tranquilize the poor boy.

In the Capitol, he'll be a hit for his shock value . . . but to any rational person, Occo serves as a powder keg that if left untended to, could see nasty results. Like Titus the cannibal and countless other unstable tributes in recent years.

"Valentina Noether! I like your name Valentina, if you're anything like your family, you must be a very delightful person!" _I need to pay attention . . ._

A brunette girl from the fifteens is chosen, wearing a red skirt slightly past her knees with a black button-up, tied together with a belt around her waist and black peeptoe heels. She appears shocked, naturally, before being escorted to the stage. She casts a long glance at the babbling Occo, her features twisting into a confused expression, all before looking off into the distance, as if deep in thought.

The Noether family is known for their questionable social and psychological experiments that escape my mind, as well as their charitable nature towards universities and community homes.

"Alright District 5, your tributes for this year, Valentina and Occo!" Quinton gestures to the two, as both seem to be off in their own worlds. One babbles incoherently . . . while one doesn't seem to have a clue what's going on.

I can't take another year of failure, yet the chance of it is so high. Maybe if I tap into their potential? I never killed a soul. I was resourceful- outwitting my detractors with my brain alone. District 5 has a knack for wits, they may not look the part, but certainly they have the inner potential to really make a splash. I've come up short many-a-time now. I just have to keep pushing.

Hopefully this year if I push hard enough, I'll see a breakthrough? . . . I won't hold my breath, but that doesn't mean I'll flake out on these two.

If all else fails, like years past, a chequebook and a sum of sesterces wouldn't hurt.

* * *

 _ **Marissa Lynne, 27, District 4**_  
 _ **Victor of the 84th Hunger Games**_

* * *

 _P-B-C-M 1050 Montereyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!_

 _Bubbling over with- FUN-NUN-NUN-NUN-NUN-NUNNNNNNN!_

 _"Goooooooooooooooooooood Afternoon District 4, it's your host DJ Caspian Lazlow! We're in our seventh hour of the day, locked inside our studio here and YES, we're still playing those top songs chosen by none other than you, the viewer! What can I say, I LOOOOOOOOOOOOVE your tastes! We're gonna to see these guys shoot RIGHT up to the top by the end of the month! Put down whatever you're doing and lend an ear to none other than . . . The Gulf Boys!- Surf City!_

Oh come on, today out of all days you just _had_ to go hermit on me?

Tapping the "sport" button on my console, I apply full force onto the accelerator. My '58 Starfire roars to life as its speed suddenly picks up, rounding each corner with ease. Thankfully the highway is free of heavy traffic, as the ocean promenade is a sight to behold on nice days like these. The road is close enough to feel the ocean spray as the water collides with the rocks beyond the guardrail. With the sun beaming down on me, music blaring and the wind blowing freely in my face, I find myself zooming down the road- as I neared my destination- the local cove. I quickly park my car, pressing the lock button as a jingle plays back in response- then proceed to walk onto the sand towards the water.

The beach was clear of bathers, and the red-and-white striped refreshment kiosks are devoid of their usual lineups as everyone is mostly in town for the reapings about to take place. This makes it easy for me to spot Abigail, one of the only living Victors prior to the war not too long ago. Sage and wizened way beyond her years like most Panemians of her generation, Abigail Jackson has seen much change and violence during her time. I wonder how she handles seeing an entire generation of Victors . . . vanish. Not to mention some of her own family members as well.

A blonde, wavy pixie cut and an average build with a warm, paternal affection shown to all she knows, Abigail waves at me as she rides a wave back to shore. Even with her seventy-nine years of living, the natural District 4 love affair with the water has never left her- as she effortlessly lets her board carry her across the shoreline and onto the sand.

"You gotta stop disappearing on me like that . . . Don't you know what today is?" I hand her the towel in her messenger bag as she smiles in return.

"Of course I realize what today is. A little stress free swim wouldn't kill me. It relaxes the nerves, quells anxiety." she takes out a light teal bikini shawl, wrapping it around her waist. "You should try it yourself." she fits a wide straw hat ontop of her head, completing the look with a pair of sunglasses.

"Sure, I'll try it out in the pool of my thirty-four room villa that you also have."

She shrugs, "A pool doesn't beat the natural waves of the ocean." okay, I'll give her that one. "Come Marissa, we have children to mentor. It's been quite a while since Berglind and I have settled down for a tea."

"It's been nearly twenty-five years. Why can't you just be like everyone else and regress it?" I say, regretting my tone as I open the passenger seat for her. She frowns, pinching my cheek as I press the ignition button.

"Like the majority of the nation, Marissa, there's no more incentive to be like our cohorts in 1 or 2. Some of you feel the incentive and that's okay. But my days of chasing the glory are done." she gently slugs my shoulder, "You've been doing a good job so far. You've got a couple of aspirants under your belt, enough to keep a child out of the games six times out of ten. I'll just be your loyal follower, nothing more."

So we leave the beach, cruising down the promenade, past the freighters and warships that lay dormant at the docks parking right up at registration just before the Justice Building. I don't know how she sees us from so far away, but Governor Del Rio announces us just in time as the crowd turns from the stage and applauds at our arrival. Opening the passenger door for Abigail, we quickly bound through the middle of the aisle.

As for myself, I live for moments such as these, lapping up the praise and cheers as I shake a hand here and there. A baby was even presented to me! Let's just say it'll be hard getting those red lip marks off his chubby cheeks. District 4 is a mellow place, too mellow I say. We tend to go with the flow, work all the day long, and then hit the waves with the family when we have the chance. This mentality we tend to carry unfortunately harms our position on the food chain. One half of the population is the former- mellow- while the other half finds the Games to be an honor to partake in.

I consider myself to be the in the latter half. Too bad certain someone's had to ruin our status for those who care. _Heh, Snow . . ._ even Snow Island, a tribute pool consisting of a bunch of predominant tweenagers, overtake us even though they've only participated for ten years.

We take our seats next to Vivienne, our red high-waisted bikini clad escort. Her neck length poofy blonde curls bounce as she waves our way- securing her floral shirt around her body as she saunters up to the microphone.

"Hello everyone welcome welcome! Since we went over the video and all the pleasantries with Governor Del Rio, we shall move onto the reaping!" polite cheers envelop the square as the jumboscreen flickers on. "Girls first as per usual!".

And just my luck, the randomizer lands on a short girl with dark hair with a mischievous glint in her eye. Milani Barassi. Now _this_ is a girl I can get behind. She'd fuck everyone's shit up with her words alone.

"Milani Barassi, please make your way to the stage dear!" with a cocky scoff, Milani does just that. Just as the Peacekeepers come to receive the bratty child, a girl with simular brunette hair, fair skin and blue eyes darts from out of the seventeens.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

I rise out of my chair, trying to get a better look at the interloper who one-upped my prized student. Like most rebels this day in age, Skylar comes to the stage clad in black slacks a thick wool jacket and some black wayfarer glasses. Gee.

"Skylar Barassi is the name, and I volunteer.".

Skylar Barassi eh? _Hmph._ I glance at the girl once more, and then back to Milani who watches on with astonishment and slight fury as Skylar pumps Vivienne's hand.

"Today was supposed to be my day!" Milani whined, pushing past the Peacekeepers in her way. "But _noooooooooooooooooooo_ , you just had to poke your stupid head out and ruin my moment, didn't you!"

Milani lunges towards her cousin as the two begin a frenzied hair-pulling match, filled with shrieks and curse words as the crowd cheers the two knuckleheads on.

"I've seen her before," hums Abigail, laughing as the Peacekeepers tug away a still shrieking Milani. "The two of them and their posse, always causing a ruckus around town." and I've seen them too. Skylar was always sulking around Miliani's imposing shadow. Something tells me that she volunteered out of malice.

Here's hoping that she's somewhat aware of what shoes she's trying to fill.

"That was nice of you, volunteering for your relative like that . . . although she didn't seem to keen on the idea." murmurs Vivienne, who dodges a fist sized pebble tossed by Milani who still curses every curse word under the sun.

"Boys, it's your turn!" Vivienne tugs the switch, still keeping a fearful eye on the troublesome Milani. "She's quite the loudmouth isn't she?" she glances at Skylar who sheepishly nods in reply.

The randomizer lands on a freckled ginger haired boy. "Kyle Rivers, please come to the stage my friend!"

"I volunteer as tribute!" a boy cries and I immediately catch the caller. I know those boyish charms and signature wet curls from anywhere. Kite Winderley emerges from the eighteens, hugging his girlfriend and friends before bounding the stage, acknowledging the crowd.

"And what is your name my darling?" coos Vivienne.

"The name's Kite Winderley, at your service." to Vivenne's surprise, she nearly goes white as the charming boy kisses her cheek. He tries this stunt with Skylar, who replaces her cheek with her hand before the last minute.

"Well, Well! Your tributes, Skylar Barassi and Kite Winderley! This is sure to be an interesting group indeed!" Vivienne declares as the crowd goes wild.

Well gee. I can't really complain here. An at best, "Semi-Career" District managing to get together a pair of tributes with at least a fighting chance. Abigail seems content as well, as no underfed tribute was caught in the haul. All in all, today was a decent day.

"Welp!" says Abigail, rising out of her seat. "I'll take the boy, while you take the girl. I'll follow your lead in the end, as you seem to be the best out of both of us when it comes to this."

"Hey, _hey,"_ I rub her back, guiding her back to my convertible. "I learned from you, remember!"

* * *

 _ **Malakai Binder, 23, District 8**_  
 _ **Victor of the 87th Hunger Games.**_

* * *

 _"I'm looking forward to seeing District 2 and how they perform." says Marceline as she shuffles a paper or two on her desk._

 _"What abouuut everyone else?" asks another panel member. "Certainly there's more to the Games than just District 2 no?"_

 _"Okay okay, fine." Marceline raises her hand in faux defeat. "They all seem like a fairly tame group of tributes this time around. I think the arena, whatever it may be, will serve as a metamorphosis for them. As they go on, I think the star players will be revealed to us much easier than now."_

Drowning out the noise from the television I continue to raise the dumbbell- up and down, breathing in deeply and letting it out with each repetition. Alongside the veins that line each of my arms, each pump further emphasizes the deep pink scars that decorate them. I swear I could still feel the mutt's tentacles brushing me, bringing along a hot, painful sensation akin to thousands of pins prickling you.

The scars bring along much more than sensations . . .

 _Things were going well for my group. Grace from 9 was scaling the fifth floor giant aquarium that had served as our arena. We'd hoped that there was better chance of survival being higher up and all. I suppose fate had a different outcome in store._

 _"Are you sure you're okay?" I yell from the nearby staircase. "I don't know much, but I do know Niners weren't built for climbing!"_

 _"I'm fine!" she replies, continuing to scale the wall. "Now can you shut up for a sec, you're ruining my concentration!"_

 _Her hands find themselves on the hook of a water cooler system. The fifth floor was an engine like complex, where there was a water cooler in the centre of the floor, and several flights of stairs connected by metal cage flooring._

 _The building being as old as it was, the hinges groaned as the giant machine crashed through to the fourth floor, earning a loud roar from below, followed by screams. Grace and I rushed back down to the fourth floor, watching in shock as a giant jellyfish muttation- completely out of the water, mauling Alex from 10 and the girl from 1. I could only imagine how painful the stings must've been if I only got caught by the arm. Grace got a taste of the muttation too, her skin hot pink from the stings- dying in my arms after we managed to put down the monstrosity ourselves._

The only good thing I gained from my reaping and eventual participation was the growing up that came with victory. Sure, some days I would wake up to find myself looking down at the metal flooring of the fifth floor. Heck, I can still picture the tributes of my games as clear as day. I've concluded to dismiss these flashes. It just comes with the title I suppose.

My concentration is interrupted by a towel falling on my face. Removing the cloth, I come face to face with none other than my escort Janice. She too is clothed in her work out attire, some jumpsuit with an intricate pattern design. Her white curls hang in wet clumps on her equally ghostly white face. She's a good friend, an amazing paternal figure for our tributes and someone who shares the same interests as me, physical fitness. The relationship is purely platonic, the best of friends until the end of the world, she says.

"You sir are a Victor like none other." she says taking the barbell from me and shakily setting it back into place. "How long did it take for you to get this place together, a year?"

I smile. "Something like that."

The basement happens to be my pride and joy out of all the spoils allotted to me as Victor. Using some of my yearly pension, I renovated the basement, tripling its size to include a small little running track, some rock climbing, some televisions on the wall, little shapes to do some free running parkour on and treadmills among other machines that'll make any health nut go wild at the sight of this place. Glisten, Cassius, Griffin among other Victors frequent my little gym from time to time.

"Well," Janice smiles, gripping my hand as she gently tugs me up. "Unfortunately, we need to get ready for the reaping. Thank you for allowing me to get my workout on! I'll be sure to use this place again soon."

"No problem." I say, beginning to march up the stairs. "You can use the change room while I get ready. See you in the foyer in an hour or so?"

She smiles, collecting her things as she begins to move towards the change room. "Mhm, within the hour for sure!.

And so we do, myself dressed in a brown leather jacket, gray slacks and a purple turtleneck while Janice dresses up in a identical purple halter dress that will soon be covered up by a stylish rain slicker and a matching purple pillbox hat with a little daisy pinned on as well.

"Well!" Janice chirps, holding out the crook of her elbow as she swings the front door open. "Here's to a second year in hopes for a colleague to join you at your side."

"Well," I smile, linking her arm with mine as we approach the idle limousine. "A little hope wouldn't hurt anyone.".

And so we leave, transitioning from the quaint city limits of the upper class, to the derelict central city, still scared from the war that ravaged the District twenty years prior. The noises of progress could be heard from outside as constriction of new townhouses and factories continue even until now, giving the District a new, modern feel- not the smoggy, congested look the District once had if you happened to glance at old photographs or Hunger Game recaps. Unfortunately, the scars of war can even be seen now, in the likenesses of children and adults alike, missing parts of an arm or even a leg as landmines among the wreckage still lay dormant.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Victor of the Eighty-Seventh Hunger Games, Malakai Binder and our lovely escort, Janice Pritchard!" the Governor announces, clapping to her seat as crowd continues their polite applause. I smile and wave at the kind gesture. The District is rather numb to these games now, if we happen to be unlucky. We tend to take care of our own, pooling together wages, keeping in touch with the families, so on and so forth.

Janice goes over the usual traditions, speech, video and all, as the screen switches to a random boy.

"You know the drill!" she clutches the switch, yanking it as the screen scrambles. "Boys first!". The screen flickers a while, before landing on a boy with blue eyes and a messy mop of brown hair. "Our male tribute for District 8 isssssssssss James or "Jem" Pullo!".

The fifteens part for James, Jem seemed to remain indifferent. However he was only keeping his emotions hidden. Although there was a flare of anger seen in his eyes as he reluctantly marched up the stage. He wore casual generic clothing, a neat button up shirt with some slacks. Although he would've looked much better with a neat cut, like most boys are into nowadays.

Janice caresses the boys shoulders, smiling before gripping the switch and yanking again, this time watching as faces of young girls flickered on the screen. "Girls, Girls, Girls! Who will be our female tribute this time around?"

The screen stops on a younger female, with shoulder length brunette hair and gray-ish brown eyes. "Elisa Clacher, come to the stage darling!"

The fourteen year olds begin to encircle the young Elisa. She appeared to be shocked when her name was called and was glued to her spot for a minute or two. When it finally hit her it appeared as if she wanted to cry or scream but nothing came out. The Peacekeepers guide her to the front stage. When she was on stage she started to panic when she saw how many people were looking out her, her eyes darted all over the square. An encouraging whisper from Janice manged to quell some nerves as Elisa looked much less frantic.

"Your tributes District 8, Elisa and James!" Janice announces as the two tributes shake hands, and begin the short trip into the Justice Building for their respective visitations.

I could see the slight disappointment in Janice's' eyes. _No older tribute this time around._ Unfortunately for me, I can't be as downtrodden. I gotta do what I gotta do, and judging by the current Victor trend, giving a little encouragement- just a slight push in the right direction- could be the difference between victory and death.

Here's hoping.

* * *

 _ **Adlai Stevenson XII, aged 33,**_  
 _ **Governor of District 9**_

* * *

I gently drape my blue blazer over the kitchen chair as I adjust my shirt and slacks. The kettle makes a loud tick noise as the power knob flips upward, signifying that the water was boiled and ready for my usage. I'm in the middle of knotting my tie before sliding over to the pink stove-top.

"Alright, how about apple-cinnamon? Nah. Chamomile? No. Peppermint? meh, _too_ generic. How about-" I grumble to no one in particular, opening the twelve pack of french vanilla instant on the granite counter beside the stove.

"French vanilla, you can't go wrong with French vanilla!".

To sweeten the affair, I go for some condensed milk, along with one spoon of brown sugar. A cloud of steam cakes my face as I stir the mixture in a large mug, pouring the contents into a practical thermos. As I did that, some of the liquid dribbles against my thumb, prompting me to curse under my breath. After cleaning up the slight mess and taking one sip of the concoction, the taste alone is enough to ebb away all the morning grog, but not enough to get through the overall anxieties of the day ahead.

A loud beep from my communicuff interrupts me from my hot beverage. _6AM, Ministry of Districts' Affairs meeting._

Quickly assembling my dossiers and clutching my thermos, I quickly traverse the wide, intricate halls of the governor's mansions. The sun has barely risen, causing a light blue hue to shine through each French window. No avoxes or caretaking staffs are awake yet, judging by the way my loafers clack against the polished wood floors.

After a ten minute walk from the east wing to the west wing of the house, I find myself in the secretive I.T room. Due to the timing, I attend the meeting in this I.T room rather than the Justice Buildings. The concrete-walled, windowless room itself is rather bare, aside from a holographic map of Panem, clocks displaying the times of each District's capital city including the Capitol and a large circular steel table supported with fourteen chairs. I take my seat at the "9 o' clock" position, where our District's emblem is displayed on a stand in front of me.

One by one each District's governor fazes in via hologram, each in a state of tiredness or awareness depending on the time zone they reside in. District 12 and the Territory of Snow Island are instead lead by provisional governors that take the form of Head Peacekeepers. Snow Island's provisional governor takes the place of where District 13 would've sat. We all say our hello's and wait in silence as the two seats at the "12 and 1 o'clock" positions remain empty.

Moments later the Minister of Districts' Affairs herself, Marybelle Quercia and the president's most senior advisor- Gideon Montresor, phase in at the head of the table. They both are seated on a taller stature than the rest of the Governors.

* * *

"Good day to you all." says Marybelle, to which we all reply the same as she shuffles a document or two around on her table. "As you all know, this month and this season in general are a lightning rod for . . . _incidents."_

Some governors mutter among themselves, others nod in agreement.

"As of May the 9th, 2158, if any of you have had any significant activity, report it now. If not, we'll move on to the economic portion of this preliminary meeting." she continues, as she and Gideon scan the room as the Governor of District 11, Henry Wallace, raises his hand.

"Go on Mr. Wallace." says Gideon with a slight nod.

"Right," Wallace grunts, adjusting the stetson that sat on top of his head. "The southeast of 11 is throwin' a hissy fit 'cause four coloured boys were beaten by Peacekeepers just last week. They be causin' a whole heap o' protests, Peacekeeper harassment, strikes and what not. What is my course of action in this here . . . predicament?"

"As Governor of District 11, the ministry on behalf of the president recommends you use your security powers to the best of your ability. For now, start with curfews, corporal punishment, the whole nine yards. I will also relay this information to your Head Peacekeeper." she turns to Governor Williams of District 6. "Governor Williams this goes to you too, as the two most populous Districts you are free to utilize _any_ tactic you see necessary to quell any forms of dissent. Again, to the discretion of your Peacekeeper garrison. Understood?"

The two governors nod.

"Any other security concerns?" asks Gideon as he types away at a PDA. Without looking, he points to Governor Del Rio of District 4, a woman of Latina origin.

"Mortars from what was formerly Mexico killed two citizens, wounding thirty. At a small fishing village." she stated flatly.

Gideon frowns as Marybelle types into her PDA. "Noted, we'll have to take care of that immediately. A ballistic missile would remedy that now wouldn't it?" the minister chides as Del Rio lips twitch into a slight smile.

"Keep reminding your schools and public institutions to continue practicing your duck and cover drills. Border Districts like yours are open to attacks like these more than others." says Gideon. He smiles warmly at the sight of my raised hand. "Go ahead Adlai."

"A storm system is developing in the lower south east of my District, bordering 11 and 5." I summon a map to the center of table, showcasing the affected region in deep red. "My environment advisors say the event type is F3 _possibly_ F4 on the Fujita scale. What's the best course of action?"

Gideon nibbles on the end of his glasses, deep in thought. "Governor McNamara, Wallace" he nods to the brown skinned woman. "Move your reaping to the secondary location. Wallace, keep your Peacekeepers and first responders on standby for the hamlets in that region. Mr. Stevenson, you do the same. Duluth appears to be rather safe from the full brunt of the storm, so hold and secure until . . . 2 or 3 PM your time, then commence the reaping festivities."

He types something into his PDA as the three mentioned Districts switch from a deep green, to a gold yellow. "Your alert level has been raised to two- moderate. The ANS- Alert Notification System will be in full effect for the areas affected. Extra Peacekeepers with proper training will be on standby in District 2 if need be. Got it?"

The three of us nod in acknowledgement. Gideon smiles at Minister Quercia, who returns the gesture as she hands off a document to someone off screen.

"Okay, I'm delighted to know that there aren't any other significant qualms worth noting. Districts 1, 2, 3, 4 and Snow Island, you are to cut your resource output by 50 per cent, as your contributions to our nation's economy are _"nonessential"._ Districts 5, 6,7,8,9,10,11 and 12, you are to cut your work output by 15 per cent, as your trades are declared _"essential"_ to the overall health of the nation. Over the next month or two starting today, you may start rolling out paid vacations."

Gideon eyes the circle of governors. "Are there other concerns or questions today?"

Not a word is spoken as the two Capitolites smile in satisfaction.

"Good." Gideon rises out of seat as all the governors do the same. "We'll continue on with health and infrastructure next week, same time. Good day ladies and gentlemen. Panem Today, Panem Tomorrow, Panem Forever."

And with that, the holograms dissipate one by one.

* * *

I must've let time zoom on by again, as once I reach the living room I'm greeted with a tender kiss from Karen, the love of my life, and my children. Karen, sporting the healthy glow of a woman seven months with child, gently ruffles the pigtails of my seven year old daughter Willow while nine year old Adlai Junior eats away at a sandwich at the table.

"You let work get the best of your time againnn..." she chides, pulling me in for a sideways hug to which I return.

"Yup, I guess so." I plant a kiss on her forehead. "Running a District and providing for a family I love until the Capitol and back is tough business."

She laughs, her head resting in the crook of my neck, hands caressing the swell of her stomach as our two children converse and play at the table in front of us. Moments like these are a rarity nowadays. Just having a moment to sit back and relax with my family, no advisors, no executive committees no Treaties of Treason to recite over and over . . . Just me, the wife, the son on the way and the kids- enjoying the company of each other as the rain continues to splatter outside.

All good moments have to end of course, as the weather advisories end and the cloud caked skies break way for clear blue skies and the sun. I decline the offered limousine, preferring to pack the wife and kids into the new dark blue 51' Zip! Tracker Jacker* I had shipped in from District 6.

As we cross the Aerial Lift Bridge, the industrious skyline of Duluth comes into perfect view. The old, quaint factories, apartments and skyscrapers that dot the central hillside with their dull brown colours contrast pretty well with the deep blue of Lake Superior. Karen and I wave at the young men and women who begin to flood out of a nearby processing factory, her faces sunken with fatigue and caked with grease as some send a curt nod or polite smile as we drive on by.

The drive into the city was fairly calm, just as I tend to like it. However, the iconic _pam pam pam pam_ of The Barberettes plays over the radio, prompting Willow and Rye to gasp with excitement.

"Oh, oh oh, dreamin' skeemen!" Willow wiggles out of her booster seat and lunges at the console situated at the front of the car. "Turn it up, please Daddy, pleaaaaaaaaaaase!"

Rye joins in too. "Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase!" the two drone in unison.

I groan, my eyes falling on Karen who sends an all-knowing smirk my way. _Oblige them honey._ So I do, cranking the dial all the way up- turning heads as the catchy melody- and the voices of me and my family joining it- flood the streets, all the way to the Justice Building.

 _Pam pam pam pam pam pam_  
 _Pam pam pam pam pam_  
 _Dreamin', dreamin'_  
 _Dreamin' you'll look my way_  
 _Dreamin' skeemen'_  
 _Hoping that you'll be mine someday!_

 _Dreamin', dreamin'_  
 _Dreamin' if come what may!_  
 _Dreamin' skeemen'_

 _Hopin' that you'll stayy!_

 _In the soft of the night_  
 _you're holding me tight_  
 _When you look at me then you'll say!_  
 _That you've been dreamin' dreamin'_

 _Hopin' that you'll be mine someday!_

"Just get through this and we'll be in Marquette by tonight." Karen says, folding my pocket square into a crisp rectangle before stuffing it into my breast pocket. "Just imagine four more reapings and we'd be rid of this forever. Willow and Junior would be none the wiser."

I smile at the thought. I would no longer have to fear for Willow, Junior or the newborn. The Games will be nothing but a figment of the past. No more anxiety . . . no more stomach aches. Thank Snow for President Kane.

I kiss Karen goodbye, watching as she takes the children into the crowd and I bound up the steps, right into the chest of Head Peacekeeper Colonel Kia Temple.

Looking at the dark-skinned woman at a first glance, you'd think that she wasn't imposing judging by her short stature. Her short cropped hair, permanent scowl and scared left eye leaving the iris dull gray makes you think otherwise.

"Hello Colonel Temple, how are you today?" I extend my hand for a cordial shake.

My heart immediately sinks as her lips twitch into a snide grin, her right arm enveloping my back as she drags me towards the podium.

"Adlai, buddy, I'm glad you're done playing house! Unfortunately we have kids to reap and I have a tornado to fight. Maybe now you can keep our basket case of an escort occupied too. "

I groan uneasily, wincing as she forces me down next to our newest escort. I stare at the very young woman incredulously as she seems fixated on her golden handheld mirror, as she applies lipstick and flaunts her golden curls.

Kia bounds down the steps and into a waiting humvee, leaving me to shake hands with the local mayors and wait for the last of the children to finish registering. Within the hour, the cameramen motion for me to approach the podium, which I do to polite applause. It always is a bit overwhelming, looking down at the hundreds of thousands of spectators.

"Good afternoon District 9!" I smile as I receive a good afternoon back. I proceed to tell them about the disasters that served as a precursor to the Pan-American union now known to all as simply Panem.

"Now, if you could please bow your heads in remembrance of District 9's finest citizens. Our Victors listed from order of victory include Mizar Aldjoy, Laurel Flamsteed, Jomilee Lapworth, Marian Green and Dan Bernhardt."

The crowd obediently bows their heads. I can't help but feel sorry for the children who on top of being chosen, go through the process without even a mentor to their name. Dan and Marian were both killed during the fourth quarter quell . . . and to be honest, 9 doesn't care about these games anymore . . . all they happen to be are just a nagging feeling. Luckily, the escorts seem to be nice.

"Please welcome . . . erm, Cindy Wellington, escort to District 9!"

Moderate applause envelops the square, for about a minute or so. The escort continues to sit down at her throne, puckering her lips as she applies more red lipstick and rakes her fingers through her curls.

"Umm . . . hello?!" I say, snapping my fingers in front of her reflection.

The escort looks up at all the eyes regarding her with slight confusion and contempt before her features wash over with surprise as she bounces to her feet.

"OOooooh, it's my turn to speak now! No problem." she bounds over to podium, taking my spot. "Heyyyyyy District 9, my name is Sindy with an _S!_ I love fashion and make up, and long walks on the beach . . . "

She continues to go over her likes and dislikes, even as the promotional video plays in the background. She apparently dislikes crust on her bread and takes lukewarm showers . . . All with a voice that sounds so damn squeaky as if she were a prepubescent child or a bratty sixteen year old, I'm not quite sure.

"Okay, time for the female tributeeeeee! " with one hand on the switch, and the other holding the mirror, without looking she flicks the switch, as the crowd watches the screen stop on beautiful young girl with long brunette locks, small face and grey orbs staple to District 9.

"Okaaaaaaaaaaaay, Rianne Verano, come to the stageeeee!"

The sixteens part for the young lady, she wore A white, floral dress, some white flats with her hair tied up tightly. As are most who are chosen, she's immediately hit by the shock and dejection, as she's escorted up the stage by Peacekeepers. As she stands by the side of Sindy, her overall look changes somewhat, to a neutral expression, a calculating expression.

The boys freeze on a younger dark haired boy, with the same grey eyes. "Mentan Upton, come on down Mentaaaaaaaaan!"

The thirteens part for a neat looking boy wearing a beige suit alongside white shoes and grey socks. He has a light-blue bow tie to accessorize. At first, it didn't seem as if he could move or breath. Then some tears fell from his eyes as he stood in place, shocked by the reap. As the Peacekeepers moved in on the boy, he began to walk on his own accord to the stage, with a neutral expression. _Good_ it would do no use to cry.

"Okay, okay, okaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! Your tributes District 9, Rianne and Mentan! Give them a round of applause!" Sindy chirps, her eyes not leaving the mirror as the crowd politely claps for the two children.

I've met the Verano's and the Uptons on the campaign trail, very down to earth people, very simple.

I'll be sure to tell my receptionist to prepare a trust fund for the two families. Its only right that we do.

* * *

 ** _Reaping Day and the hours and days prior to event are always hectic. Always being held in the capital or "administrative city", hundreds of thousands of eligible children and their families flock to the capital city for the day in question. Some say with family in the area, or stay at a hotel in preparation. For acessibility reasons, the capital is much more populous so this isn't too much of an issue. Due to the relaxation of travel within Districts, getting to and from places is a much easier affair._**

* * *

 ** _Thedewynterdynasty wordpress_**

 ** _Theluckyfewhg wordpress_**

 ** _Just type those in to see my headcannon site and my victors. I'm constantly updating it with old timey things that I think my panem would have, car ads, news articles, stuff like that._**

* * *

 _ ***51 Jacker= 1951 Hudson Hornet**_

 ** _*Gloss and Cashmere towers?= Absolute world AKA Marilyn Monroe Towers. Located in Mississauga, Canada which also happens to be the faceclaim of my rendition of Helena Montana (District 1)._**

 _ **The song is from a video game, apparently a parody of "Mr. Sandman by the chrodettes.". "Dreamin Skeemen" is the name.**_


	9. Trains Pt One

_**Haus Der Toten; The 95th Hunger Games  
Trains!**_

* * *

 ** _Panem isn't all that free as things may seem. Although people are gradually moving away from the main cities in which the Districts were founded near or in, many cities serve a different purpose within their District._**

 ** _For example, Helena in District 1 serves as the District's capital city, where the Hall of Justice is located. Roycelyn (Formerly known as Boise), serves as a separate exclusive urban center, it's mountains and scenic area serving as a resort city. However District 1 itself is fairly rich. District 11 would be a better example, with a city like Atlanta being more congested, and townships near what was formerly Florida and the eastern seaboard being for the affluent and most loyal families._**

 ** _All in all, each city within a District varies within wealth, some serving as resort towns for citizens and Capitolites in general or administrative centers for the trade of their respective District. This further fragments the Districts among each other and within . . ._**

* * *

 ** _"The Chilled."_**

 ** _Merlyn Edian, 17, District 2._**

* * *

We watch as the boy from District 12 tries to escape his fate by fleeing the square, only to be nabbed by Peacekeepers and knocked out with a baton.

 _"_ He's going straight to bloodbath city, that's for sure!" Aliyah laughs, slicing a piece of pear into her mouth. She guffaws even louder at Zenobia and I while we each cast a confused glance at one another.

"Hell," Aliyah removes a pack of _Lucky Drags_ from her pocket, she offers me one and I respectfully decline earning a curt "suit yourself." while she passes one off to Zenobia who accepts the offer.

"Why the fuck do they all look so-" she takes a drag, letting out the excess smoke through the window. "They look so goddamn frigging unremarkable. _Snow,_ me and Merlyn could kill them all off as fast as Inchcape did during 82'!"

"Judging by the current trend, I wouldn't put it past one of them plebs slipping through the cracks." Zenobia scowls through the right side of her mouth, releasing smoke with the expression.

"Which is why you need to keep on your toes," an older voice soothes.

We all turn to Berglind, who slowly makes her way to a nearby recliner. Zenobia features soften at the elder Victor, earning a kiss to the cheek as she eases the old woman into her chair. Berglind makes a beckoning motion towards the remote, to which Aliyah gently tosses and a look of surprise washes over her face as Berglind catches it in mid air. Berglind clicks backwards from District 12 all the way until District 5. She jabs a bony finger towards the television.

"Look for yourself."

 _"Oh boy . . ." Marceline scowls, the other panel members frown as the District 5 boy known as Occo Barst, babbles incoherently as the Peacekeepers unceremoniously clutch the boy by his two arms and drag him to the stage, while the boy's babbles turn into screams. After slamming some wooden figure onto the ground repeatedly, only then is he tranquilized._

 _"I wonder what young Occo brings to the table." a panel member muses._

 _Marceline laughs. "Judging by the likes of Titus during '66, he brings nothing pleasant that's for sure. The girl looks a little scatterbrained, there's probably more to that story as well."_

Aliyah doesn't seem to get the message. To her, they're still nothing but useless opposition that needs to be put down. "What's the moral of the story Ms. J? Occo is a lil' bit ' _whacko_?'" she howls with laughter.

Berglind ignored the horrible pun altogether. "The outliers are a crafty lot. There's more to them than meets the eye."

"Which means in people like Occo, there could be a Gwendolyn Faraday waiting to break out." my first sentence since boarding the train, earning a nod from Berglind and a smile from Zenobia.

"Exactly, my dear." confirms Berglind as she dips her teabag into hot water served to her by an avox. She nods in thanks as the avox returns to their post. "Just look at the way some of them carried themselves as their names were called. The . . . _'amateur_ ' mentors certainly didn't pick this up, but I did."

Berglind flips through District 9, more specifically the female and how resolute her reaction was overall. The 9 male wasn't too shabby either. That wasn't all, the District 12 female, also showed confidence as her name was called. In the end, going over the recaps one more time, most of the tributes showed some form of strength in their dejection and shock. I nodded along as Marceline and the panel went over their overall first impressions. Their conclusion was neutrality.

"First impressions are everything my lovelies. Most of those outliers had a spark in them- not a big spark, but a spark that can grow into confidence big enough to move mountains if they really buckle down." Berglind takes a sip of her tea before sending stony glare our way. " _Don't_ give them that chance by writing them off as nothing."

Right, that makes sense. With all the unexpected wins the outliers have been pulling off this Games' decade, it's plausible to expect some wildcards out of this bunch. I noticed something else too, the false bravery, the sucking it up for the cameras . . . I doubt the sparks Mum is talking about apply to all of them- some, but not all. I doubt a week or two would be enough to really motivate them enough to move mountains.

On the other hand, however, I have much more immediate problems- a certain Aliyah Marini.

I assess her as she laughs though each recap- again already dismissing her competition as she says a couple of bad jokes and guffaws again. I've seen the tapes of previous games. Overconfidence is a very dangerous sediment to hold, but I don't blame her for holding them. She's quite an enigma, Aliyah, very . . . 'mixed' when it comes to showcasing who she wants to be depending on whom those people witnessing her are. If I could make an educated guess she seems very guarded and distrustful. If she's already made her mind up about the tributes in general, this could lead to conflict down the line.

Fortunately for me, I'm great at falling in line- and thinking fifty steps ahead. Just go with the flow and adapt. That's me!

Aliyah scoffs. "First impressions are everything and so far, I'm not very impressed." she turns to me. "What say you Edian, what do you think about the current litter?"

I smile. "Bloodbaths, the lot of them. You and I could take them all down in a millisecond."

She laughs, none the wiser as she slugs me in shoulder.

* * *

 ** _"The Balanced."  
_ Tybalt Moranthyfis _14, District 10_**

* * *

 _Ergh,_ why are you so emotional? Well, she _was_ just reaped for a death match, so I _suppose_ it's only natural.

Joelle, my District partner, continues to bawl her eyes out as our escort Harriet tends to her with a box of tissues. Our mentor Annabelle and I are awkwardly situated towards the television fixated in the corner of the dining car while Joelle's off in the corner. Her whimpers continue to resonate throughout the room, throwing my focus off the recap impressions and directing them towards her. Her crying is not a good sound, it's the type of crying that lingers and dampens the room and everyone in it.

"This is _horrible,_ " mumbles Joelle as Harriet passes another bundle of tissue her way. " . . . Why _me_ of all people?! Just five more measly years and I would've been in the clear."

"This _isn't_ the end of the world sweetie," Harriet caresses the troubled girls back. "This is anyone's game just as much as it is yours!"

That strikes a chord with Joelle, as she abruptly bristles at our escorts' touch and shoots out of her seat.

"This is all _your_ fault, if it weren't for you I wouldn't be lined up for slaughter!" she seethes, jabbing a finger into the astonished chest of Harriet. "I could be with Ma and Pa, back in District 10 eating reaping dinner right now.".

I let out a slight groan- I've grown annoyed with her sob story. "Boo hoo, Joelle. As you may have noticed . . . there's about one, two-" I count off of my fingers nonchalantly until I reach fourteen. "I dunno fourteen other people in your boots right now? The other six are charmed to be here. It's for your own benefit if you put aside your angst and focus on the situation at hand."

I cast a glance at the eyes that drill into me as if I'd said something out of line. "What?" I scoff, taking a sip of pepa-cola orange. "It's just a friendly suggestion, nothing more, nothing less."

Joelle casts daggers at me, her eyes welling up in tears as she begins to formulate a sentence, before storming off with an abrupt huff as Harriet chases after her. Annabelle doesn't seem quite keen on my choice of words, given the stern glare she launches my way.

"C'mon Ms. Starling, you know as much as I that her attitude towards the situation won't help as we go down the line." I say, sending her a polite smile. As expected, her agitated and frustrated features on her face ease back into the joyful and pragmatic grin all citizens of 10 know Annabelle for having. No matter how annoyed one might be, it's hard to stay angry at me, call it a knack.

"I reckon you're right kid." Annabelle says with a sigh as a smug smile forms across my lips. "Why dontcha' do me a favour and pass off those smarts of yours to your partner, ally up with her?"

I give it a minutes thought, before shaking my head with slight disdain. Joelle seems like a swell girl, definitely someone who shouldn't be in this predicament- like the thousands of other children who don't make it out. She's too emotional. She doesn't seem like the type to bounce out completely from the shock of the reaping. Her types seem to always pop up every year. I suppose she is a lost cause, no use in sticking with her. Someone like her I could play like a fiddle, but the take-back is too little to invest in.

"Nah, it won't benefit me in the end." I say flatly, mulling over the recaps as Annabelle nods slowly and hums to herself as she reflects on my answer.

" _Hmmm,_ there might jus' be an Annabelle Starling in ya' afterall!" she slaps me on the back, joining me as we dissect each tribute one by one. While we go over the recaps, I conclude that the career tributes will be my number one problem. The other tributes on the other hand . . .

 _"After seeing them all with my own peepers, I say that this year is a career year for sure!" concludes Marceline who shuffles her papers as the rest of the panel nods in agreement._

 _"They're a fairly younger group on average, no special skills to diversify the pool . . . I'll have to agree with you Marceline, a very tame group indeed." quips another panel member._

 _Marceline nods her thanks with a self-satisfied smirk on her lips. "As I said before, the arena I think will be the breaking point for them. Hopefully the training scores and the interviews shine a light on our batch just a little bit more. I'm interested in how these guys will take to action!"._

Annabelle turns off the television as Marceline gives her final thoughts. Marceline seems to have the same general thoughts as I do, _tame and underfed._

 _"_ Well then _,"_ Annabelle lets out a yawn, clutching her left bicep with her right hand as she stretches back and forth. "Whaddya' think about 'em?"

I scoff. "The careers are going to pose a threat as per usual, but the other guys . . ." I motion lazily towards the television. "Seem very boring, besides the slow pair from District 5. I can see how the people on the TV would think so lowly of the outliers this time around."

" _Hmmm,_ true. The Capitol bias for the upper Districts is well documented, their coverage of the last five Hunger Games' shows this so don't let that bug you." Annabelle nods halfheartedly, sighing as she slips some rum from a stylish flask into a glass of cola. "But you can't forget the golden tip, there's more to a tribute than meets the eye. What about the twelve boy or the eleven boy for that matter, do you see any ally potential?"

"Meh. I suppose there are some people I could see myself partnering up with in the short run." I say, raising an eyebrow as Annabelle takes a sip of her drink as she hums in agreement.

"Good, ya' seem like a crafty guy and I like that kiddo." she pats me on the back, taking another swig of her alcohol infused cola. "But remember my darlin', looks mean _nothin'_. If the past five games haven't given ya' a crash course, then nothin' else will."

Riiight. Her words make sense, don't judge a book by its cover, everyone has potential, etcetera, etcetera . . . as she speaks the reapings replay in my head. There are a lot of useful people that can help me get ahead, but whom? I'm not quite sure. There is plenty of time to scout out potential picks. It's all about subtlety, in the end.

Subject matter like the Hunger Games doesn't take much exertion if you think about it. All you need is a little finesse and you can have anything go your way.

I should know. My luck has gotten me this far in life, why not a little bit farther?

* * *

 _ **"The Enthusiastic"**_

 _ **Cian Landon, 18, District 11**_

* * *

 _"That Marcia Mata, the District 11 female . . . she's quite the girl, isn't she Marceline?" inquires a panel member._

 _Marceline nods, smiling as a holographic image of the child is displayed beside her. "Ah yes, little Cia from District 11. The popularity polls in terms of likability are off the charts for her! She's rated sixth place, only second to the careers. Although her placement is a measly 21st, we don't know what Marcia Mata can bring to the field but I'm sure as Snow excited to see what she has both in combat and singing potential!"_

 _"What about that hood . . . erm, Mr. Landon?!" asks another panel member._

 _"Oh yeah, the greaser!" chirps Marceline, who takes a sip from her glass of water. "With a not too shabby 8th place, I hope he brings to the table what those scary public service announcements drone on about. They both seem like a decent pair. I can't wait to hear more from them as they arrive."_

 _Marceline feigns a smile as District 12's seal appears on screen with a smoke effect. "Now onto District 12, If only all the tributes were like Ainsley . . ." sighs Marceline as the other panel members follow her gesture._

Thank the sun they didn't mention my family past, like it really matters in the end. I'm positive everyone had some role in the war twenty years ago, no one is truly clean. Although they were lower echelons, I still fear for their safety.

Ma, Pa . . . Killian and Liam alongside Garrett, you can never be sure with the Capitol . . .

Octavia turns down the volume on the television, kindly letting the Avoxes through as they serve dessert. Paisley and Zinnia eat away at apple pie. Cia's face lights up like a Christmas tree as one of the servers plops a big bowl of teal bubblegum ice cream in front of her. She quickly chows down as our escort Octavia caresses her back.

"I'm very proud of you Cia, you put on quite the show today!" coos Octavia as she eases into a seat. Paisley seems very impressed as well, smiling warmly at the girl as she chomps away at her ice cream. "This will bode well with potential sponsors and the Capitol at large." she says.

"Good job Cia," pipes up Zinnia, who sends a knowing look my way with nod. I return the gesture, knowing that I don't need the encouragement as much as Marcia does.

Cia smiles sadly, shrugging as she savors a bite of her ice cream. "Gee, thanks a bunch Octavia, Miss Paisley, Zinnia!" she nods to them in thanks respectively. "I'm just doing what my Ma told me to do, don't sweat the little stuff and just keep on going! Hopefully it'll be enough, right?" she says as the rest of the table nods in agreement.

"Speaking of enough, this food is amazzzzzing! Y'know, being poor doesn't allow me to eat grub as good as this." Cia gushes, taking another spoonful of her ice cream as she lets out a mew of satisfaction. "It really hits the spot! Speaking of hitting the spot, I don't feel very well- _urrp-_ excuse me!"

The vivacious girl bolts from her chair, clutching her stomach while pushing past a shocked Clarence. The sounds of Cia's retching in the washroom makes its way into the dining car moments after.

"Yes hello, excuse me?" Octavia snaps towards an avox. "Could you please take care of Cia for me, the poor girl hasn't tasted food like this before!".

I can't help but scoff. "Of course she hasn't, have you seen some parts of District 11 miss?" I say, watching as Octavia smiles sadly, before diving right back into that pie of hers. Zinnia decides to avert her gaze towards the television, while Paisley nonchalantly eats away at her pie.

Octavia seems okay and all, at least she acknowledges the differences and doesn't and doesn't play the role of an apologist, like a certain 'victor'. As I continue to eat my pie, I can see from the corner of my eye the cringe and leer he launches my way at my words towards my escort. Any District 11'er would agree at my words, besides this sellout and other upper echelons like him.

"So, Mr. Landon," Clarence takes a seat, reversing the mahogany chair as he plants his elbows onto the backrest. "I'm sure you're aware of your eighth place ranking, correct?"

"Yeah," I say, taking a sip of water. "What about it . . .?"

He bulldozes through my wall of ice. "That seems like career potential to me, don't you think?". Octavia smiles at me, she's probably gleeful at the thought of one of her tributes joining the pack.

I roll my eyes. This guy is a real piece of work, acting like a One or a Two, the same kids who kill ours with gusto for years on end. "No thanks, if I win, I'd want it to be out of necessity not selfish blood lust."

Marcia slips back into her seat, her grey eyes darting back and forth from myself to Clarence as things get denser.

Clarence lets out a brief howl of laughter. "Yes, of course. Why would I expect anything more from your type anyway?"

Zinnia lets out an uneasy sigh, as Paisley looks up from her pie now, glaring at the unrelenting Clarence. "Oh boy . . ." mumbles Zinnia.

Well, we might as well air out the feelings now. "What do you mean, _you're type?_ " I spit as I launch out of my seat while he does the same.

"You know _exactly_ what I mean," seethes Clarence, who takes a wide berth into my personal space with no regard of my feelings. "You're type, rebel scum who don't know any better, the typical hardheaded, _ignorant_ heathen who thinks for himself rather than the larger picture!"

"Better an ignorant heathen than a Capitol _lapdog_!" I shoot back, ignoring the "My _word_!" that babbles from Octavia's astonished mouth as I also take a wide step forward. "Who are you to say what's good for me, _huh?_!"

"I know what's good for you because I'm your _mentor_ for Snow's sake!" retorts Clarence.

Paisley seems to have enough of our argument. "Boys, _enough_ fighting, we ain't got time for bravado." she pleads, gazing at us from her seat as her hands clench both sides of her end of the table.

"Well not anymore. As far as I'm concerned, I'm with Zinnia and Paisley." I scoff, shoving past Clarence as I head out of the dining car. "It's getting a little late, I'm going to retire. Come get me if you need me, _Paisley_ or _Zinnia."_

And with that, I'm gone. I could care regardless if he was a special Victor or not, people like him are why regular folks like me and Marcia continue to struggle and are hauled off to die each and every year.

I'll navigate through this maze my own way.

* * *

 _ **"The Simple."**_

 _ **Valentina Noether, 15, District 5**_

* * *

Our escort . . . what was his name, Quinton? _Yeah,_ Quinton seems to be babbling on about the other tributes that were selected. District's 1, 2, 4 and the Snow Island tributes. He pauses on the District 1 male and female tributes, his face is twisted into what I think is frustration and tact as he jabs his pointing stick towards the females face and circles around it.

I half pay attention, as I'm far too occupied by these silver spoons I have in my hands. I smile, watching as I twirl each utensil in my hand though my fingers with ease. The bright blur they give off as they twirl back and forth makes me smile and calms me. These spoons shine so bright, they could practically be _flashlights_ if you turned the lights off! It reminds me of my token, the silver ring secured on my finger after finding it as I wandered around town one day.

My partner, the weird boy with the wooden figurine and who talks to himself, seems to be interested in my little display too. He catches my eye and quickly returns back to his token. He too runs the figurine between his fingers.

"District's 1 and 2 usually are the tributes one should pay attention to in the arena." says Quinton as he switches to the District 2 pair. "They have money, looks and extensive training by the looks of it. One of my cousins serves in the air force, apparently they draft kids who don't volunteer _right_ out of the cadet system!" he nods rapidly, switching back to District 1. "I'm not quite sure about District 1, however, but they draw Peacekeepers from all over Panem so," his hands fly to his chin as he hums in thought.

Now that I think about it, he looks _very_ goofy in that suit, a purple suit with thunderclouds that flash all over it? Capitol people are weird. At least its shiny, I like shiny things.

From the corner of my eye I can see him glancing at Piper. "What about you Piper, you're the mentor here! Do you have any words to add in as well?"

"Oh, yes! I do." Piper nods, taking the remote and selecting District 4 and Snow Island, alternating between the two.

The jester looking boy, what's his name, Nicolao? He looks goofy, kinda cute too. The girl from 4, Skylar, why is she wearing a wool jacket, isn't she hot in that weather?

"District 4 and Snow Island are weird cases." says Piper as she freezes on Skylar and her partner. "Some years they have tributes like any other District, other years they have more capable people selected, like these two." she glances at me, then somewhere else before taking a large breath. "No matter what, _all of them_ are dangerous. I would recommend you get with them, but you guys seem like a more . . . um, _special_ pair this time around.".

Quinton pats Piper on the back before turning towards me, I think. I'm too busy with these spoons. "So, any questions pertaining to what we just went over?" he asks.

I spin the spoons faster, letting out a giggle as the spoons shine even brighter. I swear my eyes flash over each time the spoon reflects off of them. Maybe I should swap my ring for this instea-

"HEY!" I snarl, glaring at Quinton as he swipes the spoons from my grasp. I lunge at him, only to groan and frown as he takes one long step backwards. "Fine," I scoff, frowning as I shift my attention back to my ring which is also very shiny. "I'll just look at my ring instead!".

As per usual, my anger subsides very quickly as I rapidly spin the ring up and down my index finger. It doesn't shine as much as the spoons, but that's okay.

Our mentor seems angry by the looks of it, I don't really care as to why though.

"Why are you so fixiated on these?" Quinton takes a glance at the spoons. "They're just _spoons_ . . .".

"Because, I'm _borrred_. Can you give me my spoons back _pleaaaaaaaaase_?" I whine, groaning as Quinton shoots a rude "No." my way. A warm heat rises to my chest as my left leg finds itself kicking the nearest table leg repeatedly. Piper plants her foot over mine, stopping me.

"This is _very serious_ stuff you two!" Piper growls as she rises out of her seat with her hands on her hips. "For Snow's sake, this could cost you your life if you don't take it seriously!" she scolds, her light blue eyes now trembling with anger.

"Occo, Valentina, say something! You guys haven't spoken a word since leaving the District." Quinton pleads.

"It's the Hunger Games," I say flatly, my eyes downcast as I twist the silver ring on my finger. "Who needs pleasantries when you'll be onto the next batch in a millisecond?"

Quinton groans, "With a mindset like that, maybe we will!" he watches as Piper saunters over to where I sit, kneeling between myself and the next chair. "We have to go over allies, tips and tricks and the like." she lays a hand on my shoulder.

For the first time since the reaping, I glance at the chair on the opposite side of Piper, straight into the eyes of Occo. He seems to have had the same idea, returning the gaze before casting his eyes off elsewhere. As we got onto the train I also noticed he liked fidgeting with figurines like I do! He also seems to not care about presenting for the world at large. Like me, he also likes to 'chill' out in his own bubble.

I like him already and we've barely spoken a word to each other.

"Well, if you don't mind Piper, to get the ball rolling I suggest me and Occo should be allies!" I grin as he continues to fidget with his wooden figurine, my smile turns into a full blown smile, teeth and all as he turns my way.

Occo's mouth is agape, his glasses askew as he tries to formulate a sentence. "Wha, m-me, why me!?" he splutters, pointing to himself. His voice sounds half angry and half silly sounding, like a shy boy talking to his sweetheart or something. It's weird, but I don't care!

"Because Occo," I slap him on the back, causing him to adjust his glasses. "Us intrepid thinkers need to stick together you know."

He raises his right eyebrow, still shocked by my blatant offer. "You don't think I'm a freak or something?" he asks cautiously as he rubs the back of his head.

I shake my head. "Nope, not that I'm aware of- so," I extend my hand out. "Whadd'ya say, partners?"

Occo hums for a minute or two. His awkward demeanor he portrayed since the reaping up until now is shattered and replaced with a hearty smile followed before laughter as he takes my hand and pumps it up and down.

"I suppose we're partners then!" he nods.

I nod as well, as Piper and Quinton take a cautious glance at one another before also smiling at our newly found partnership. Piper settles down at her side of the table as servants begin to bring out our food. Quinton changes the channel to catch an episode of _Grandma Knows Best!._

The more we eat, talk and go over strategies and our interests, the more attached I grow to Occo . . . and I think vice-versa.

Occo and I versus the world! We don't know where things will go from here, but it is certainly better to have someone by your side with the same common interests than going it alone that's for sure.

* * *

 _ **Average daily life in Panem varies from person to person, District to District. During the off months (May-Mid August), many like to take the free time they earn and put it towards trips to vacation spots within their District. A trip to the movies, diner, a shopping centre if they could afford it.**_

 ** _Most families however usually pool their resources for New Years and Christmas, celebrating a year of escaping the reap not succumbing to hardship. You could expect newly minted shopping malls throughout the country to be jammed packed with gift buyers._**

 _ **These are all new commodities for many District's however. The wealth gap remains very large. How well off a family is all boils down to your lineage and/or your loyalties throughout Panem's history.**_

 _ **Again, a city that's blessed by the Capitol to even hold a shopping centre doesn't have much poor people living in that city anyway, again fueling the class divide. Stealing is tempting, but then again, being flogged puts the lust at bay.**_

* * *

 _ **thedewynterdynasty/dot/wordpress/dot/com**_

 _ **^3 movie posters (Which I'm very proud of!) and a newsflash in the new "Capitol Post!" section. I'll be sure to tell you every time I update how much "Advertisments" and "News" I update on the site each time.**_

 _ **Expect to see much more "Newsy" type things now that I know how to add more subsections.**_

 _ **For now on, instead of just writing out the "headcanon" blog every single time, I'll tell you what I've added.**_

 _ **Thank you for reading.**_


	10. Capitol Interlude: Confrontation (NE)

_**Haus Der Toten; The 95th Hunger Games  
Capitol Interlude: "Confrontation" **_

* * *

_**Note from Tyler:** This is for you headcanon freaks out there. Since you guys seem to enjoy the world I've build. I really appreciate your reading of my stuff even though I'm very late with it. _

_For the sake of not throwing off the main story, these type of chapters will always be paired up with an update to the actual main story. I will label them (NE) Non-Essential, as the chapter may or may not throw you off from the actual story. Chapters like these would just be a background filler. If they do pop up again, said chapter will coincide with Hunger Game politics, not Panem politics._

 _Same format as the prologues. Script._

 ** _Two chapters came with this update! So make sure to go back if you haven't._**

* * *

 ** _Panem has always had a slick military apparatus. In the beginning days, military function was quite limited with transportation lines and bases being destroyed. However, with constant work around the clock, Panem has significantly improved its military capabilities. With legions of bio-weapons known as muttations, hoverplanes, and Peacekeepers kitted with state of the art armor and plasma weaponry- all of which was improved since the Second Rebellion, it would be unwise for enemies both foreign and domestic to launch any attack against the Capitol._**

* * *

 ** _Agesilaus Kane, President of Panem._**

 _ **PRESIDENTIAL HOVERPLANE- Thursday, May 11th, 2158 (95th year), 11:00 AM**_

 **Acropolis, District 2.**

* * *

 **FADE IN:**

 **EXT- PRESIDENTIAL HOVERPLANE - DAY -**

 _The presidential plane, escorted by two fighter planes, zooms through mountainous terrain, filled with ice caps, a plethora of trees and a river system. The camera pans through the escarpment before setting on a city. The city itself is just as mountainous, with a larger mountain system looming over the city as the hoverplane flies towards the mountains. A TITLE CARD fades in:_

 _Acropolis, District 2._

 **INTERIOR- PRESIDENTIAL HOVERPLANE-**

President Kane sits with Chief of Staff Gideon Montresor as they continue to go through the reaping recaps on a holographic television fixated in the wall of the lounge. They watch on as the likes of Aliyah Marini strut down the aisle towards the stage, Marcia Mata from District 11 grabbing the microphone and singing to her heart's content, Koller Ascort of District 6 tumbling down the stairs as Silvia guffaws with laughter to the disgust of their escort Flo. President Kane stops the footage at District 11, more specifically Cian Landon- the male.

 **President Kane:**

So all the tributes and their families have limited rebel ties or were loyal during the war except this one?

 **Gideon:**

 _(Handing a classified folder to the President_ ) Right Mister President. According to Vi and Pax, Mr. Landon's parents were rebel soldiers, your typical foot soldier nothing special. When the war came to a close, they were relocated to Birmingham like most dissidents after the war in that region.

 **President Kane:**

Good Gideon, another year, another Hunger Game. That's what things are looking up to be. We'll send them in, one comes out and we'll be done with it. _(He nods, passing the folder back to Gideon who motions for an avox to tuck it away.)_

 **Voice Over (Pilot):**

Attention passengers, we'll be arriving at Acropolis in ten minutes.

 **President Kane:**

So what of today?

 **Gideon:**

As you know, we're in District 2 to discuss the developing situation in Southeast Asia. Presidents Pok and Matthews from the UDPRK and the Australian Confederation alongside President Kudratseyev and King Muthasim from Russia and the Middle East will be there as well. Everyone from the prior UN summit basically. Minister Belliard is awaiting us on the tarmac as well.

 **President Kane:**

What of the District 4 shelling from Mexico?

 **Gideon:**

That is also what I've wanted to talk to you about. We have Poseidon-class destroyers PNS Aristotle and Achilles on standby for your firing command.

 _The two men lurch forward and back as the plane lands on the tarmac. The two men smile to one another as they leave the lounge area. The pilot greets them as the exit flies open._

 **Pilot:**

The Foreign Affairs Minister is awaiting you on the tarmac, welcome to Acropolis sirs!

 **EXTERIOR- HOVERPLANE TARMAC**

 _Kane and Montresor can be seen disembarking down the steps of the hoverplane as Peacekeepers rush to and fro on the wide tarmac before the base of the mountains in the foreground, a train tunnel in the background. Boxes of equipment are strewn about the airfield. Some Peacekeepers in gray jumpsuits work maintenance on hovercrafts while fully armored Peacekeepers rush towards an awaiting hoverplane. The presidential security detail escorts the two men to the train that will lead them into the mountain range. Some Peacekeepers gawk in awe and stand at attention as they spot the President striding onto the train. The President gives the Peacekeepers a friendly wave before the train door closes. Inside the train sits a Panem Navy ADMIRAL and Minister ARISTELLA Belliard._

 **President Kane:**

 _(Shaking her hand) Aristella._

 ** _Aristella:_**

 _(Smiling) Mister President, Gideon. (Handing him a PDA) the situation continues to develop in Southeast Asia. The Australian Confederation is seething over the constant encroachment into their territories._

 ** _President Kane:_**

 _(Ruefully) Oil is a rather . . . "important" commodity these days. We'll see when we get there._

 **Admiral:**

 _(Speaking into an intercom) Let's get this train rolling!_

 _The train roars to life, slowly picking up speed as it rushes into the tunnel and into the snowcapped mountains known as "The Nut" by many._

 **INTERIOR- ACROPOLIS "THE NUT"**

 _Kane, Montresor and Belliard, accompanied by their security detail move through office styled corridors. "The Nut" consists of office wings for its civilian staff and utility hallways maintenance and uniformed members of the armed forces. Workers, dressed in business attire, watch on with awe from security checkpoints as a CLERK watches on. An AGENT of the presidents detail approaches the clerk's desk._

 **Agent:**

Tell them Elder is on site.

 **Clerk:**

(Picking up a phone and whispering into it) Elder has entered the building.

 _The three Capitolites travel though nicely lit hallways adorned with conference rooms, paintings and intricate furniture. The pass a secretarial pool, phones ringing nonstop as men and women rush back and forth from their desk. Cigarette smoke wafers through the air as many of them stop and stare as the President makes his way down another hallway towards an elevator._

 ** _President Kane:_**

 _(Waving towards the onlookers)_ Good morning ladies and gentlemen, are you working hard or hardly working!?

 _This elevator is guarded by two Peacekeepers in full armor and a docile Doberman. Gideon motions towards the man and woman guarding the door as they do so, snapping a salute as the president makes his way inside. The Capitolites and their protection detail leave the elevator two reveal a two floor situation room/ war room. On a very large flat screen, shows a map of the world. On this map, are very faint red dots- possibly what are left of the world population? Machines beep as men and women in military uniforms chatter with one another as they go over data on clip boards and screens in front of them._

 ** _President Kane:_**

 _(Thoughtfully)_ It always amazes me that our ancestors very well forged what we all know as Panem in this very room. _(This earns nods from Gideon and Minister Belliard.)_

 _As they decend down the stairs, the war room goes quiet as a female navy COMMODORE rises out of her seat and snaps a crisp salute._

 ** _Commodore:_**

 _Mister President, our destroyers Aristotle and Achilles await your orders sir. (She hands him a PDA) All we need is your thumb scan to approve the strike on that compound in Mexico._

 ** _President Kane:_**

 _(Nonchalantly pressing his thumb on the PDA) Wipe them off the map._

 ** _Commodore:_**

 _(Smiling darkly) Sir, yes Sir._

 _As Kane, Belliard and Montresor move on towards the conference room. All eyes move towards the main screen as the image changes from a world map, to the compound in Mexico- in infrared cameras on one side of the screen, and camera footage of navy cannons in another. As the cannons turned and fired, what was once a formidable fortress was reduced to black and white smoke on screen as the workers watched on in awe._

 ** _INTERIOR- CONFERENCE ROOM._**

 _The three Capitolites saunter into a decorative and regal conference room made up of sleek mahogany panels, leather chairs and other sets of furniture. On one wall sits a couple of holographic televisions, all for the moment turned off. On another side of the room, multiple clocks- possibly different times for different locations such as Sydney, Riyadh, London and Seoul. In the middle of the room sites a wide table, with numerous holographic figures in deep debate. All in all the room is quite overbearing and posh, with cigar smoke hanging in the air. This smoke is both holographic and tangible. Besides the three Capitolites, only military officers and technicians occupy the room._

 **President Kane:**

 _(Nodding while taking a seat at the head of the table)_ Thank you ladies and gentlemen. You may leave us.

 _With a nod, the Generals and technicians leave the room, leaving only Aristella, Gideon and the President. One of the holograms rises from its seat. That hologram is President Joseph MATTHEWS of Australia. Within this group of conniving, tactful dictators- President Matthews takes the cake for the most just and genuine of the group. He is unlike most of the leaders sat down here today, wearing a combat utility uniform rather than a suit. Supreme Leader POK also wears a dress uniform alongside Premier SERGEI Kudratseyev. On his left side of his chest, sports his name "Matthews" alongside a shoulder pauldron. On his right arm- or lack thereof, sported a mechanical appendage of sorts. All this, topped with grizzled features and a muscular build leaves a force to be reckoned with. Currently sitting are, Premier Sergei, Pok, King MUTHASIM V, King LAWRENCE III alongside President DIETRICH of Switzerland._

 ** _Matthews:_**

As long as you continue to drill for oil in OUR territory, we will do what is just and defend said territory.

 **Lawrence III:**

And as long as you all attack an ally- _and supplier of said resource I might add_ \- pertaining to Britain's interest, we will aid in defence of said territory . . .

 ** _Pok:_**

 _(Patronizing tone)_ Don't you see Australian, old world ideals long gone! The Peoples Unified Democratic Republic of Korea will see to it that it's people's needs are met.

 **Sergei:**

What was the saying, how did it go again? The world is your oyster? Nothing belongs to anyone anymore. As far as the Union of Sovereign States sees it, everything is up for grabs.

 **Muthasim V:**

 _(Smoking from a hookah pipe)_ what the Russian said, it's not like there's a line up for these resources anymore. Put them to good use I say.

 **Dietrich:**

(Annoyed) If we all could just stop bickering for a moment and iron things out, I'm sure we could all cooperate and find a solution that benefits all nations.

 _Matthews notices President Kane take his seat. The two size one another up. Kane had heard reports from his spies overseas, Matthews was a different case, clinging onto old world ideals. The reports were sketchy, instead of commanding from behind a desk and a legion of soldiers, he apparently did the fighting himself- or so people say. Those reports are yet to be truly verified. President Kane is glad Viondra is back in the Capitol. He didn't want to risk a potential forth world war with two egos pitted against each other._

 **Matthews:**

 _(Irritated) Well well well, look who decides to show up. To think that we used to be allies decades ago. Too bad the title of "American" has fallen so low._

 _Aristella opens her mouth to barge in, but President Kane holds a hand up signalling her to stop. So she does, begrudgingly. The other world leaders watch on with intrigue as the two leaders initiate conversation._

 **President Kane:**

Premier Sergei and Supreme Leader Pok are right. We each have our own populations to feed and supply. Claims based on pure virtue don't matter anymore I'm afraid.

 **Matthews:**

 _(Scoffing)_ Spoken like a true tyrant. I wonder what the likes of Barrack Obama and John F. Kennedy would think if they were to look upon your nation. You don't understand do you? In order for things to ever be stable between our two nations is the withdrawal of all activity within my region and the dissolution of those blasted "Hunger Games" refugees from your nation say you hold.

 **President Kane:**

 _(Passively as he raises his hands)_ Yes yes, in five years time they will be no more. We will continue talks to see that this oil skirmish is settled.

Aristella as well as the leaders from Arabia, Korea and Russia- bristle at Kane's words. Gideon appears nonchalant- however on the inside he feels uneasy about appeasing nations miles away.

 **Matthews:**

Not quite. These blood sports you've conjured up have severely impacted your populace according to my reports. You've severely fallen astray from the nation that once claimed to be the "bastion" of democracy. You must regain what you lost so long ago.

President Kane opens his mouth in apparent astonishment and protest, before the hologram lunges out of its seat- withdrawing what appears to be a blue beam sword. One of his eyes- just as bionic as his arm, flares red as he leans the sword towards the older man's neck. Even though this is a hologram, Kane still feels slightly unnerved by this action, as does the entire table.

 **Matthews:**

 _(Angrily)_ You have no idea as to what I mean. You must regain what you lost in order to reopen trade with us! Your respect for human rights, especially those of CHILDREN, the NEXT DAMN GENERATION! _(he leans closer towards Kane)_ , in no way would the America and Canada of old would consort with the likes of these dictators _(he jabs a finger towards the delegation of Korea, Russia and Arabia, all while King Lawrence III watches on with a smug look on his face.). Using the name of "Snow" as some sort of deity!?_

 _Matthews continues to go on his tirade, talking about the environment, other nations and their authoritarianism. Spewing half truths and half lies such as not letting people from Districts taking up professions from out of their designated trade, and not allowing them to become soldiers if they lived elsewhere besides District 2. He was about to say something about falling from grace before a hand taps away at a couple of computer keys, rendering the hologram mute. Matthews notices this, glaring at Gideon who now mans a control panel._

 **Aristella:**

 _Please Matthews_ , save the virtue signaling for next time, yeah? Until then, take a breather and we'll convene with you soon. It is about time you lose your grip on old world values, as a _new_ world order has taken its place for decades now.

 _With that, Gideon taps a few keys again, watching as a confused Matthews is dissapated. Pok lets out a cackle as the world leaders now focus on Ms. Belliard._

 **Aristella:**

Now that that's settled, do any of you mind if we continue our little conversation next week or so? _(The table is filled with shrugs and mutters as a smug, self-satisfied smirk etches on Aristella's lips.)_ Amazing, see you all then.

 _One by one, each leader dissipates leaving the three Capitolites alone. The tension in the room is thick._

 **President Kane:**

 _(Slightly irritated)_ Why did you cut him off . . .?

 **Aristella:**

My bullshit tolerance is very low these days. May I remind you, Mister President, you have no obligation to him whatsoever?

 **Gideon:**

She has a point Mister President. They keep to their affairs as we do the same. You don't need to take heed to their complaints, as they've all engaged in the same activities as we do. I suggest you ponder your next course of action. As for now, we have a games to preside over within the next couple of hours. The last set of trains should reach the Capitol around six o' clock.

 _And so, they rise out of their seats. Aristella is visibly upset over the President's inaction and show of weakness towards that pitiful nation, while Gideon worked away on his PDA- possibly contacting stylists and escorts for the chariot rides. It's always hard to read the eccentric senior advisor. President Kane however, had a slight admiration of President Matthews' words. For President Kane, he had a long ways ahead of him, with the legislative branch backlogged and the Career Districts outraged by his proposal._

 _No matter what the outcome, the nation will be torn asunder._

* * *

 _Not bad, only 2.8k words. This is probably the last "non-Hunger Games" related thing. As I said before, this throws off the story and doesn't add much to the tributes. The next time you see a Capitol interlude, it'll be Hunger Games related- most likely intricacies with sponsorship, parties, Capitol interpretations of the event among other things._

And as I also said before, will always be paired with a main chapter. If I were to do these all the time, the story will never finish.

Thank you for reading this "Non-Essential chapter" and reading in general. I genuinely appreciate it.


	11. Trains Pt Two Chariot Prep

_**Haus Der Toten; The 95th Hunger Games**_  
 _ **Trains! Part Two/Chariot Prep.**_

* * *

 ** _Telecommunications are also new to the Districts at large in Panem. Run by "Capitol Telecommunications Co." based in the Capitol, District 3, 5 and other cities throughout the nation, a band of operators sit at switchboards and transfer through calls on a daily basis. Unless you're an official or have a shared line, no call is truly private guaranteed. Mobile phones also function in the same way, and are common among the Districts. You're a pretty lucky kid if your parents could afford to get you one!_**

 ** _The same thing goes for home computers. Libraries are where "most" District children go to get their info._**

 ** _The internet is also somewhat "rudimentary" from how it was a century ago. Dial-up is the way to go nowadays. That iconic-yet-horrendous screeching as your home computer makes the "handshake" with the main server as your mother yells for you to "Get off the internet, I'm using the phone!" is common among many households. Broadband servers are available only in the Capitol and uncommon in the upper Districts._**

 ** _As you surf the net, you are subject to information at the stroke of a couple keys. Chat rooms, "Personal Pages", video sharing and news are just some of the things one could do while surfing the inter-webs._**

 ** _. . . If I were you, I'd watch your fingers citizen! Your moves are monitored. The last thing you would want are Peacekeepers ransacking your home._**

* * *

 _ **"The Attentive"**_

 _ **Herrick Argent, 16, District 3.**_

* * *

For the longest while, I thought being reaped by our overly vapid pop singer-turned-escort was only a _very_ bad dream and I'd wake up continue on with my life in District 3 with no issue.

That is, until a young female Avox roused me out of my sleep.

Yelping, I bolt to the edge of the bed, away from her touch, clutching the wall behind me as I get my bearings again. The black maid uniform and ghost white makeup doesn't help with the sudden awakening either.

Then again, who knows what type of stuff this girl has went through. She doesn't look too good herself, as she too instantly retreated to the other end of the room closest to the door, her face lit with astonishment as she lay on the floor.

"Oh jeez . . ." I hop out of the bed, helping her up from the floor. "I'm sorry miss. As you can tell, this whole Hunger Games thing hasn't sunk in quite as much." I mutter, rubbing the back of my head as the Axox nods rapidly, quickly moving to make up the bed again. By the time the Avox was done, the bed was in pristine condition.

"Thanks a lot." I say.

She smiles warmly at me, bowing her head in thanks as she quickly retrieves a notepad and scribbles something down. " _Breakfast will be served now."_ she wrote, showing it to me. With a nod, she leaves me to get dressed.

Not even ten minutes after, I emerge from my compartment, fully dressed and refreshed as I make my way towards the dining cart. Looking out the window to my left is a mountain range that most likely consisted of the Capitol in the background and forestry in my immediate view. It all looks so foreign, not anything like home- District 3, a concrete jungle filled with hive like apartments and industrial parks.

I wonder if this is how Atarr felt while on _his_ ride to the Capitol. Uncertain and nervous of what fate had in store.

Evara and Tertius are already sat down around the mahogany table, alongside Gwen who sits beside Evara. Gwendolyn smiles brightly as her eyes catch mine. Evara sends me a smirk while a nod is what I receive from Tertius. He pulls a chair out for me and motions for me to sit down with a stern point of a finger.

He takes a sip of coffee. "Herrick, Herrick, Herrick, _just the young man_ I'm lookin' for." he says with a lustful smile clamping me on the back as I took my seat.

"Here I am." I say shakily.

He nods, going back to his breakfast. "Your brother was . . . Atari?"

" _Atarr,_ Atarr Argent." I correct with a smidgen of annoyance, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.

"Yeah, yeah right, Atarr was his name. So, I reckon you're not lookin' to en' up like him?"

"Um, yeah . . . I'd prefer if I didn't follow in his footsteps." I say, thanking the male Avox who serves a cool glass of apple juice. "You're the war veteran, so I'm yours to mold."

Tertius smirks at the flattery, holding his hands up in faux grace. "Good, good. The only gripe I have about you is your _image_."

"My _image_ , what's wrong with my image Tertius?" I say taking a sip of apple juice, taking slight offence at his words. Then again . . . I'm from District 3, not the _first_ thing in mind when it comes to strong proficient tributes. I wouldn't be on top of any potential sponsor list that's for sure.

"Yes, your image." he says, "You're a pretty big guy- six foot two, 'bout one-fifty in weight? Y'got potential kid- but the perception of your reap says otherwise." he finishes his coffee and motions for another. Gwendolyn and Evara excuse themselves- "strategy" Gwendolyn says as they move onto the next car. He was right, Tertius. District 3 isn't well known for its endowed tributes, and regardless of my somewhat shaky reaping, I could really make a splash in the second half once we reach the Capitol.

Technically, after time and time again of Gwendolyn type tributes, someone like me would be considered a rare case. Above average in terms of strength and height- I don't owe anything to anyone, I believe I'm pretty confident in myself to really get things done. Swinging a sword shouldn't be too hard . . . I may genuinely have a chance at this! Judging by the other reaps the pool isn't all that qualified either.

"I agree Mr. Varro . . . M-maybe I do have more of a chance than I thought." I say, nodding at all the potential I could bring if I heed Tertius' words.

He smirks. "Tertius is _always_ right. Jus' wait 'til we reach the Capitol. I'll teach ya' the whole nine yards."

"Always right about what . . .?" squeaky yet sultry voice mews.

Turning my head, I watch as Doris saunters into the room and takes her seat next to me. As she sits down, I'm hit with her perfume- an amazing mix of strawberries and maybe even kiwi? That ontop of her ensemble, some silky white nightgown with a just as silky red robe with black accents is enough to make any person drool. She also wears a beaded necklace and matching bracelet. Her blonde curly bob secured with a matching black bandana. If you really focus in, you can make out two or three splotches of dark bruises stemming from her chest to her neck. She must've caught me gawking, as she slowly adjusts her robe- glaring as Tertius lets out a mocking snicker.

He mutters something about his "handiwork"- but I don't press on the matter.

"Nothing much Miss McKenzie, Tertius here says that as long as I put up a tough guy angle, I should be fine." I say, shrinking lower into my seat as she lazily runs a finger around my ear. She lights a cigarette, putting it in a slim black stick while taking a long drag. She lets out a puff in the form three rings. She makes smoking look like an art form rather than a bad habit.

"Being a bimbo is fine and dandy, but an ally or two wouldn't hurt either y'know." she says.

"Since when d'you know how ta' mentor, girl?" says Tertius, who lets out a guffaw as Doris glares beams at the man. She hums, ignoring the put down altogether. Her ruby red lips twitching into a frown as an Avox serves her orange juice and some fruit.

"I know it's easy to peg yours truly as a dumb Dora but I know my onions!" she says, taking a sip of her juice and a bite of a pineapple.

"You don't have to like them, just be loyal enough to get you as far as ya need to go!"

"I hate to 'mit it kid, but she's right." Tertius mutters, to the immediate scoff of my escort. "It's best not to lone wolf it, but who says you need to live up t' convention? Play by your rules kid, make the stipulations as you see it."

Right, she was right, _they_ were right. Having allies wouldn't hurt me. For a pop-singer and escort, that was probably the smartest thing she's said since the reaping. _Just be loyal enough to get you as far as ya need to go!_ On the other hand, however, I remember Atarr's games back in '90 and how that ended up for him. He trusted his allies and they left him to die in that sewer as they released the mutt swarm.

Too much trust will get you killed I say. I don't have to trust them, but I _need_ them- whoever _they_ are. I'll be as loyal to them as they are me.

* * *

 _ **"The Dignified"**_

 _ **Lumina Reiss, 17, District 12**_

* * *

Even though it's been what, twenty four hours? The edge of the reaping still leaves a burning feeling in my heart. No more extravagant parties . . . no more housemaids, no more potential to lead a major company.

At least Leonardo and I are free from having to be married off against our will. He never had the capacity to run our parents' companies, so I wonder how they would get along in our stead.

I groan, sinking into the plush pillow in front of me and occasionally glancing out of the observation window to watch the train tracks and the scenery we leave behind as we continue onto the Capitol. Francine, our escort, is here too, going over recent developments and Hunger Games gossip on her phone. She glances at me, my eyes catching hers as she smiles weakly, showing me her phone. Ainsley, my mentor, and Jai are nowhere to be seen of course, you'd think because of their long glances and sheepish behavior around each other they were an item or something.

"Tenth place is what they're giving you, not too bad all things considering." Francine says with a hint of joy in her voice, her eyes latching back onto the device.

"I suppose," I say flatly, massaging my head against the pillow. "I'd still rather be anywhere but here."

Francine nods with what I conclude is genuine care. She's the only one in this train that has any sense of composition or poise. Certainly if life had it any other way, I could see herself and I chatting it up at a formal gathering of sorts.

"I'm truly sorry my dear, it's just the way life goes. How does the quote go? History is written by the victor?" she says as her slim brows quirk in slight confusion, before shrugging and gluing her eyes back on her phone.

"I know you're just doing your job, Francine." I sigh, sitting upright. "I guess I can't stay in this mode of mourning forever. At least the Capitol is looking at me with moderate consideration."

"Yes my dear of course, that's exactly the mentality one needs to hold!" she chirps, nodding at an Avox who does a series of gestures. "Come come, lunch time awaits!"

We enter the dining car of course. The television drones on about the reapings of yesterday while Ainsely and Jai are in deep conversation. She sends a shy wave my way as I return the gesture with a just as flat smile- which was basically just a twitch of the lip. Yeah, even though I have Francine who has studied escorting and the social politics around the Hunger Games, it would be best to try and get _something_ from Ainsely, even though she seems quite infatuated by my weird District partner.

"Well, here we are." says Ainsley with a bit of hesitation in her voice. "By this evening, we'll be in Capitol City for the chariot rides."

Lunch is self served, so I end up with a plate of vegetables and a salmon.

"Yippie . . ." I drawl, playing with my vegetables as my right hand digs into my cheek. "What are we being dressed as, _miners?"_

"From what I heard, I don't think so Lumina. This probably means something new for this year." she says, rapping her fingers against the table.

"What about our reputation, I mean, the television isn't painting good pictures for our District." Jai mumbles, eating away at his stew.

Instinctively, my hands fly to the remote as my thumb mashes the "+" button. Speaking of the devil, Marceline seems to be going over our District right this moment.

 _"- District 12, District 12 . . . the pair seems okay I suppose, what about you Marceline?" yearns a panel member._

 _"What do you mean, okay? Jai Matisse seems a little wonky to me. Didn't you catch him babbling on about 'not going back'? I wonder what he meant by that."_

 _The Master of Ceremonies takes a sharp breath. "Miss Reiss on the other hand seems very confident and poised. I would expect nothing less from a member of the Reiss family. It will be interesting to see what she brings to the table."_

 _"Well unfortunately Marceline, even though their statistical placements are not too shabby, their favorability is low due to obvious reasons." Chides another panel member as she takes a sip of water._

 _Marceline nods in agreement. "Yes, yes, it's quite sad such a small group of people had to go and spoil it all for everyone else. The Capitiol may forgive, but we certainly don't forget."_

 _I don't_ want to hear any more drivel!

I swipe the remote from his hands, shutting off the television over Jai's protesting voice.

"What's your problem, townie!" spits Jai, spluttering in confusion as I slide the remote to the opposite side of the table.

"My problem, _honey,_ is the fact that we're the poison of Panem because you guys couldn't fall in line like everyone else!" I retort my voice as calm as ever, but my motions betraying the composure I always carry.

I'm technically not even a citizen of this stupid _District_! Why couldn't I just be reaped from 3 instead of here?! At least then I wouldn't be written off as a child of rebels.

"What are you trying to say?" says Jai, his voice confused and low.

"There are many things I can say to you, darling. But for your sake I will hold my tongue." I say flatly, my eyes darting elsewhere.

Before Jai could retort, Francine slams a manicured hand on the table.

"Children, simmer down!" she shouts, causing all eyes to glance at her.

"You guys can't just throw in the towel now when we've only just begun."

"She's right," Ainsley pipes up. "We may have not been born during the war to be at fault for what happened, but who knows? Maybe now we could reintroduce ourselves."

She caresses my shoulder. "Lumina, you're very dignified. You heard the panel, prove them wrong by tearing down their prejudice."

I smile at this slightly, watching as she lays a shoulder on Jai. "Jai, buddy, you're a miner, show them that hidden strength!" she yearns, jabbing him in the arm as he blushes.

"As long as you don't do anything out of line, I'm sure the Capitol at large will be receptive of you." Chirps Francine, "We're a team, I'll be happy to help you in that new branding you all seek!" she says, to the rapid nods of Ainsely.

"So you see guys . . ." Ainsely begins, pointing lazily to the television. "Forget the stupid biases and stereotypes they throw our way. Pave your own path through, persevere, so they say."

Francine claps gently with glee, as I nod at her words, letting them sink in. Marceline and the panel already said it. I'm poised, womanly, and articulate.

All I have to do is show the Capitol they're wrong, and the barriers will be broken instantly. Who knows, with my background, that may be quite easy to achieve.

* * *

 _ **"The Dispirited"**_

 _ **Cveta Moscone, 15, District 6**_

* * *

Why why why why why why why why why WHY WHY, for Snows sake, WHY?!

Groaning, I rub my eyes against my fists. What did I do to deserve _this?!_ I lived straight, dabbled in delinquency one in a while, but who in my age group _doesn't_ get in trouble for mischief? They're had to be some sort of bias, some sort of contempt that led up to this. It was simple, all I had to do is hang on for three years and play spectator for the last two, and I would've been home free.

Then again, maybe this serves as the universes way of giving me a release from the constant agony I've faced since . . . _the accident._

I shudder, running my hand across a splotch of pink skin on my neck. I still picture his blade tracing down my neck, my arm, _my leg._ He took everything from me, that boy- I could barely see what he looked like. Every single day at night, when I lay my head down, I can still see him, tormenting me, licking my blood from his knife.

Because of him, I could barely function even until this day.

"Cveta child, its dinner time baby." a knock comes at the door. It opens, revealing the bushy curls of Flo, my escort.

I bristle at her choice of words. "I'm not your _'baby'_ Flo."

She frowns, taking a seat on the bed beside me. "Listen Cveta, I'm here to make sure you're well adjusted, I'm not your enemy."

" _'Well adjusted_ ' is a funny way to describe all this.'"

"What, you're suggesting there's an ulterior motive? Well, there isn't any."

"How do you know?"

Flo shrugs. "If you're not dead set on a definitive reason, there's a very high chance you were selected on a whim- at random. That's all I can say about that." she struts over to a marble statute, her manicured fingers caressing the art as she studies it with half interest.

"Baseless defiance won't help you. If the Feds get whiff of your little attitude, they'll blow it out of proportion, and you won't have any shake on how this goes for you, you dig?"

"I never had any _'shake'_ in this anyway. I have nothing to lose."

"Partially true, but it's wholly up to you to try and curb the outcome."

I flail with anger. Flo doesn't seem to stir as my pillow goes flying across the room.

"Why can't you just respect my opinion?!"

Flo rises up from the bed, clutching the tossed pillow and placing it back. "Because your opinion on the matter is _half-baked_ at best." She says, her hips sashaying towards the exit. "Do me a favour and have an open mind while you're here. Play the game as you see fit. That's all I have to say."

She stops short of leaving the room entirely, stopping at the doorway. "I came to collect you for dinner, so, let's get moving."

And so I follow her outside, partially surprised to see Orville hanging around. He looks slightly confused, bouncing on his toes as his eyes caught mine.

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you all day today. Yesterday too, but that's because of the whole Peacekeepers drugging you thing." he asks, his voice and low and devoid of much confidence.

I roll my eyes. "Why does it matter to you? We have drunks for mentors and their advice isn't worth jack shit. What's so special about hiding from your opponents?"

"Well," begins Orville, "They won the same way Justin Hix and Megan Hayes won, that makes four Victors in a row winning using the exact same method. That has to count for something right?"

I shrug, gazing out the window towards the grayish purple sky. It casts a mellow aura against the yellow wallpaper of the train. I quickly divert my eyes to the back of Flo, not wanting to be reminded of my days of amateur art.

We reach the dining cart, adorned with fine glass and glossed mahogany. After choosing what I felt for, turkey and salad, I take my seat across from Orville as Flo groans in apparent disgust, muttering about _'I'll see if I can go fetch your mentors'._ Not even five minutes later, Flo shoves our dopey mentors into the room. The two Victors look dazed as they saunter into their seats, grumbling as Flo continues to nag them. Koller Ascort and Silvia Starr. Koller still wears his wayfarers while indoors, prompting Flo to snatch them away from his face, revealing reddish eyes- obviously under the influence of morphling

 _Great, just great, I guess they couldn't buck up for one week just to see us through?_

They settle, and we all begin to eat. Five minutes turns into an hour, with us watching on as they eat. The train radio emits nothing but static, which means _'we're close to the Capitol's mountain range'_ said Flo.

Orville breaks the silence. "Do you have any advice for us?"

"Advice for what?" moans Silvia as she adjusts her beret.

"Advice for surviving, _what else_ would I be asking for!?" Orville snaps with a mixture of anger and desperation, frowning at the lack of coherency our Victors are displaying.

"Mobility." says Koller.

"What?"

"Mobility, you gotta keep movin'. Keep movin' man, you're a young cat, you're both pretty young, it should be easy. If push comes to shove and you need to attack, be quick about it."

"What about the cornucopia?"

"Stay away from the _damn_ cornucopia. Check the outfield for an item or two. The younger tributes should avoid the cornucopia at all costs. It's not you're fight to begin with."

We all know young equals dead, so I break the probable news. "Orville you're thirteen. You're probably going to die, no use in trying. Too bad we couldn't outlast five more years eh?"

The way Orville deflated at my words almost caused me to guffaw with laughter.

" _Cveta,_ cool it." Flo chides.

"Damn sister, you're pretty dark. Darker than I am!" Silvia jumps in, guffawing. "Maybe if you directed that energy into the other tributes instead of your District partner, you'd have a chance."

Orville shakes his head, frowning at me. "If five other younger tributes can do it, then so can _I_." he says, staring at his reflection in a spoon.

"There has to be _something_ more."

Before I could shoot him down, the radio found reception.

 _Sometimes we walk hand in hand by the sea and we breathe in the cool, salty airrrr . . ._

"Oh, the radio is back, and what a _fitting_ song for an introduction!" Flo exclaims as she rushes to a nearby window. She quickly beckons us to her side, which Orville quickly follows while I sulk behind him.

 _You turn to me, with a kiss in your eyes_  
 _And my heart feels a thrill beyond compare!_  
 _Then your lips cling to mine, it's wonderful, wonderful!_  
 _Oh, so wonderful, my love! *_

The Capitol . . . "The City of Lights", "The City that Never Sleeps." or so they say. Each building and sign takes after art deco architecture- with hulking steel buildings affixed with effigies such as gargoyles and griffins. Some buildings and signs take on geometric "space-oriented' shapes, something that's popular in District 6 too. The neon lights from the skyscrapers reflect off the lake, painting it a teal-pink hue. _"HAPPY HUNGER GAMES!"_ says a larger dirigible suspended over the lake, spotlights from the ground circling the flying machine. " _SIMPSON'S DEPARTMENT STORE", "PEPA-COLA; ADD SOME PEP IN YOUR STEP!"_ are just some of the signs that caught my eye as the train passed the skyline.

"Welcome, welcome to Capitol City- the City of Dreams!" cheers Flo.

Pfft, that's a little ironic. More like the city of premature death and where dreams come to die.

* * *

 _ **"The Stately"**_

 _ **Kite Winderley, 18, District 4**_

* * *

So, _this_ is what all the hubbub is about? _Wow,_ the postcards and television commercials don't do the Capitol enough justice!

As our train arrived, Skylar and I- alongside our mentors Abigail and Melanie were whisked away by Peacekeepers clad in black trench coats. Teenagers and adults alike shrieked our names as we were hustled into a car and driven out of the train station and onto the Capitol streets themselves.

 _"KITE, KITE, KITE!"_

 _"Skylar I love youuuuuuuuuuuu"_

 _"Kite, could you sign my autograph pleassse!"_ are just some of the things the crowd chanted our way as we drove.

I knew we weren't too far away from our destination, the three identical skyscrapers known as "The Training Centre" was just up the long road.

This wasn't going to be just any plain old ride though! The route was filled with groupies, waving flags containing the emblems of the career districts. Just above a building is a jumbotron, with all twenty-six tributes standing side by side, staring off into the distance with a "95" in the middle dividing us equally.

 _That's pretty nifty._

After at least five minutes of driving, I have decided that District 4's Monterrey has _nothing_ over the Capitol. Sure, we have a handful of cool looking skyscrapers, but the Capitol has countless amounts of them, each lit up in different colors.

The streets are so pristine, complimented with tons of department storefronts. Some stores we have while some seem to be exclusive to the Capitol. I wave to the onlookers, grinning as I cause them to roar with excitement.

I can get used to this treatment for a week or two. Skylar on the other hand seems caught up with her thoughts- sitting over on the farther edge of the limousine, her eyes partially glossed over due to the lights of the Capitol.

"Psst, earth to Skylar, come in Skylar! Do you read me?"

She stirs out of space, glancing at me with a confused expression on her mug. I shoot her a smile, and the expression is lifted, replaced with one of amusement. Yep, they can't resist that _Winderley_ charm.

"Do you need something Winderley?" she says, a tad bit playfully.

"Not _realllllllllly_ , you just seem out of it is all. I hope you're not getting cold feet." I wiggle my eyebrows. I've seen her around training camp. She's the bipolar opposite of Milani. She could only play the tough girl card for so long before the reality of her decision really hits her. If she's just as tough on her own rather than imposing to compensate for her cousin, then that's fine with me.

"We wouldn't want you losing out on a spot in the pack this yeaaar . . ." I continue in a sing-song tone.

She shakes her head vigorously, scoffing. "No, of course not- It just all looks so overwhelming is all."

Marissa seems to want to add her two cents into the conversation as well, scooting over to our end of the limousine while chomping down on some sweetened cherries.

"Yeah, just make sure you save face for the cameras and the crowds. Early reports don't know what to make of your little stunt."

"I understand Marissa."

"Are you sure about that Skylar? You have big boots to fill and the expectations are pretty high. You can't go soft no-"

"I am _fully aware_ of my decision and I'm ready to take it on full throttle."

Raising her hands in faux defeat Marissa sinks back into her seat with a coy smile playing on her lips.

"Okay, then let's get to it. First order of business, chariot prep! Just listen to your stylists and you'll be just fine. You guys have seen previous years, no need to spell it out."

* * *

We disembarked from the limousine via a underground garage. Abigail and Marissa wave their goodbyes as we're whisked from the parking lot down an elevator to a sub level of sorts. It was a fancy place, with shrubs, benches, nifty wallpaper designs. It all reminded me of the resorts back home and the spas they operated for the upper class and Capitolites.

There are others here as well, Capitolites mixed in with tributes being escorted by their own Peacekeepers.

"Bye Skylar, see you on the flip-side!" I wave to her, watching as she hauled off to another room with a nervous groan.

The Peacekeepers direct me into a nifty medium-sized room with a bunch of what I assume is beauty equipment in one corner stacked on shelves, and a steel table in the middle.

I'm not alone for a minute before three young Capitolites burst through the door- one male and two females. The three of them seem to be quite the trend followers, with the girls wearing a teal and pink poodle skirt combo and white blouses to boot. The boy wears a purple over sized suit with a white poodle stitched on his tie.

"Hello there . . ." I say, still taken aback by their sudden entrance.

"You wonderful trio must be my prep team, correct?"

"Correctamundo!" says the suit man, grinning as the three casually stride towards me and begin to encircle me, glancing upwards and downwards for any supposed imperfection. They measure my height and caress each muscle, flip each eyelid, pull at each earlobe and check every finger.

"Hey, _watch it_ you three!" I say, wincing as one of them wraps a measuring tape around my stomach. "I'll have you know that I'm currently going steady with someone."

As soon as they finished looking me over, they quickly dart back to their previous positions, their faces beaming with joy.

"You know what they say!" says the purple suit man.

"District 4 boys are always such _hunks_ . . ." drools the pink poodle skirt, hugging herself as her eyes dart upwards with bliss.

"Yeeaah . . . too bad he's jacketed." agrees the teal poodle skirt.

"I guess we all agree the boy is perfect. I suppose we can move onto the polishing process for real this time." purple suit says, turning to me with a slightly embarrassed look on his mug. He clears his through, his lips twitched in a coy smile as his left hand makes a swirling motion towards me.

"Mister Winderley, if you could _please_ take off your clothing, I would truly appreciate it!"

I shrug. "Okaaay . . ., if you say so my friend, just don't go drooling on me from all the handsomeness!"

* * *

 ** _"The Edgy"_**

 ** _Landry Danton, 15, District 7_**

* * *

 _Okay_ , so being reaped was and still is a pretty harrowing thing to have happened to me. Judging by the interviews of previous Victors, you would expect the entire experience to be traumatic from start to finish.

You _want_ to be defiant, you _want_ to wallow in your own pity- but the food and the pampering . . . For me, it just seems like you forget about the trauma and become preoccupied in the environment around you. I guess all this pomp serves as the cushioning factor to the fact that you don't know what happens after the gong goes off.

I wince, glaring as one of the prep team buffs my skin with a spinning cotton disc thing that I can't really put my finger on. Aren't those things supposed to be used to buff floors, _not_ human skin?!

"Watch it guys! _Damn_ , your beauty standards are a little bit much don't ya think?"

"Sometimes, one has to go through pain to look good." chirps Vesper, my stylist.

"Look on the bright side. You don't need as much prepping as the last pair we got. You're near perfect on your own!"

"Awww, you flatter me. You're too kind, too kind!"

"What's life like in District 7? You're from Spokane, right? _No wonder_ you're much more cleaner than most." asks Janaka, one of my prep team members. Her fingers work magic as they massage my hair, suds and bubbles flying in every direction.

"Yep, Spokane is where this gal hails from. We live right off a river system."

"Hmmm, my cousin went to Olympia for her honeymoon- she has a lodge up north." says Vesper, as he paints my nails. "How is District 7 in your eyes Landry? Tell me about it."

"It's not bad, because I live in a city rather than a small town. Which means less trees and mills which is _fine by me_."

My mind drifts off to Mom and Pop, my friends and the possibility of never seeing them again, chances are. If I play my cards right, who knows? Maybe just maybe I'll come back. Given my age, District 7's recent history during the war and numerous career tributes- lets be realistic, the chances of me getting out are _slim_. Part of me is annoyed that I'm so calm about the likely possibility of death. Then again, its not like the Capitol leaves much leeway for wallowing in your thoughts.

Vesper is about to open his mouth, only for my wet finger to gently block his lip.

"Less talky, more making me beautiful."

Vesper obliges, leaving my nails and continuing to . . ."buff" my skin with that stupid device. Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, my skin appears to be as if an entire layer was scrubbed off, giving me a brighter and more toned appearance. That's not all the prep team seemed to have changed. My hair seems one shade blonder, giving me a platinum shade instead of its typical gold shade.

I was being transformed from a District dweller to Tribute . . . I'm not quite sure that's entirely a good thing, but if I look good for the Capitol at large, then I suppose its worth the hassle.

As they continue to work their magic, and I continue to lull of in a dreamy bliss, the prep team and I are jostled by a loud crash, followed by panicked screams.

"Get off of me, leave me alone!" a girlish voice snapped, followed up by a violent shattering of a glass object. From my view looking at the entrance, the girl in question seems to be the District 6 female . . . Cvetta, _Cveta_? She readies another vase as she continues to walk backwards from the imposing Peacekeepers who take cautious steps towards the frenzied girl.

"What did I say!? If any of you bozos make a move you're getting the vase!" she shouts, reading the object. She tosses the item at the lunging Peacekeeper, it misses, and she gets nabbed by them, clinging onto crevice of the doorway as she lets out an ear-piercing shriek.

"Shut up slut!" I yell, leaning off of my table as she's tugged away from the doorway. "You're causing too much chaos!"

Her yells get quieter as she's dragged back to her room and I ease back into position on the table.

"I wonder what that was all about, doesn't she want to look pretty for all the cameras?" questions Janaka.

I shrug. "It wouldn't be the Hunger Games without a nutbar thrown into the mix, am I right?"

She'd better get with the program. If I were her I would fake it until I made it, like I am right now. If I had it _any other_ way, this room would be trashed and my stylists would be running out the room in tears if I had revealed my genuine feelings. It's all about being realistic, if I were to come all the way here, sour, bitter and lashing out at the people who matter, I might as well just climb into my casket and call it a day.

As much as it may seem the opposite, our team is here to help. You would be a fool to refuse their helping hand.

Here's hoping their helping hand gives me the boost to try and make me a viable competitor.

* * *

 ** _"The Tactician"_**

 ** _Tamir Acker, 14, District 7_**

* * *

"Not bad, not bad." says Landry, nodding with glee and satisfaction as she strikes a playful pose. "It shows off a lot of skin, but hey, anything to please a wealthy old pervert into sponsoring me!"

Celosia, our mentor and explorer extraordinaire, lets out a genuine cackle at Landry's joke. Even I managed to laugh a little.

" . . . I'm surprised they've come up with something besides a species of tree." I mutter.

" _Hey!_ Unlike my predecessors, I give my work thought and originality! Thank you very much mister Acker." Sneers Vesper, with his nose pointed upwards in contempt.

"I present to you 'The Lumberjack and _Lumberjill_ \- the backbone of District 7', without the burly men and women of this District, where shall Panem receive its lumber to remain _stalwart and strong?"_ Vesper muses, his arms raised in faux confusion with a smirk on his lips.

"You sound like a television propo." I say as Landry shakes her head with a smile.

"But it's _true!_ Who better to showcase this than Landry Danton and Tamir Acker?"

Given many decades of tree oriented costumes and ridicule, we've finally broken the trend this year. Lumberjacks seem to be the costume theme this time around. Like Landry said, she seems to have been given a more . . . umm _, very_ good looking, design- a blue plaid button up that reaches her waist and shows off her bellybutton. Her bottoms are a denim shorts and suspenders combo. The costume is complemented with sturdy brown boots, over sized beanie that complements her hair very well and an axe to boot.

As for myself, swap the short denim jeans for actual pants, suspenders, boots and the axe and you basically got the male version of what she's sporting.

I smirk to myself, giving the outfit one last look over in the mirror. _Perfect,_ step one of my little plan is complete- that being the person assigned to style our outfits are not a total _wet rag_ and that we're given something decent.

Step two is something that's pretty easy to achieve, charisma- show the crowd what Tamir Acker is all about. With these outfits, there is no instant perception of weakness or cuddly-wuddly from the crowd at large. All I need to do is show confidence and competence and I'll be considered a competitor for sure. Then of course there's training and the scores, go through those with some decent showcasing of the skills I'll pick up, and it'll be smooth sailing from there.

All one needs is strong will and good vibes to get you where you wanna go. Like Celosia said, if four other people built like me could edge off a victory, so can this guy!

"So, whaddya' think kiddies, feeling good about tonight?" asks Celosia, who takes a wide bite of an apple in her cybernetic arm.

Landry shrugs. "As good as we could be I guess."

"I feel more than good, I can't wait to show those other tributes who's _boss_." I say, cracking my knuckles.

Celosia grunts in approval, Vesper and herself leading us out towards the stables that will serve as the staging ground before the actual rides begin. I feel the cold grip of her cybernetics resting on my shoulder as she hunches down to our level.

"I'm glad you guys appear confident in your ability. This is a very _very very_ important night for you two. This will set the stage for how potential sponsors will perceive you for the next week or two.

"You have no idea how much I understand." I nod earnestly.

"Ditto." says Landry.

We reach the staging ground now. Stylists, escorts, support staff, tributes and Victors alike rush to and fro, preparing the final kinks before everything kicks off. I catch a glimpse of the newest pair of Victors, Joyceta and Francisco- dubbed 'Joycisco' or whatever, standing off to a side, their faces drained with apparent fear. They look as if they were tributes themselves. In the end, hundreds of thousands of kids like me look up to them with awe, wishing if they were ever reaped, they would have the fortitude and willpower Joyceta and Francisco displayed in the arena.

Celosia's eyes, as green as the forests of 7 themselves, light up with glee as she caresses both our shoulders.

"Okay, if you guys say so!" she begins to walk towards the other Victors and escorts who seem to be congregating towards an elevator. "I'm rootin' for you, remember- smile, wave, be yourselves and you'll be fine!"

"Are you ready Landry? I say to her as Celosia leaves up the elevator.

My partner nods, sucking in a deep breath. "Ready as I'll ever be."

We begin our long walk down towards our chariot, as each of them are spaced out at least twenty feet apart. The Careers are congregated around Snow Island's sand and seashell covered chariot, which leads the procession. They glare daggers at us, smirking as we return the gesture- they seem amused that we haven't cowered away from their intimidation.

"Oop, here come the sevens!" The District 1 male jeers.

"Lumberjacks . . . how _original_." adds the District 2 female, causing the others to giggle like gossiping schoolgirls.

Landry rolls her eyes. "Get bent, District Two." she turns on her heels, striding towards our chariot. "C'mon Tamir, no point in wasting time with these posers . . ."

I don't move. Instead I stand my ground, taking a step towards the District 1 male. "Shut up nosebleeds, you guys think you're so high and mighty!?" I spit, pointing my axe towards the eight of them.

"Be careful Aliyah, gosh!" chides the District 2 male.

"Yeah Aliyah, you wouldn't wanna _cross_ him!" the District 1 female lays a shoulder on her partner, earning loud howls of laughter.

"Listen here you son of a _whor-_ "

I'm about to stride towards her, maybe give her a piece of my axe- only for Vesper and Landry to violently tug me away towards our chariot. The eyes of tributes and stylists alike are glued on us as Vesper shoves me onto the chariot.

"Hey, what gives?!" I shout, earning a slug to the shoulder from Landry.

"Ow, man!"

"Are you _dumb,_ do you _want_ a target on your back?" she hisses lowly, tugging me down with her. "Listen, if we were anywhere else _besides_ here, they wouldn't hear the end of it from me. However, this is the _Hunger Games!_ The last thing you want is to go ape on supposedly trained military cadets!"

"That was very, very unwise of you Tamir." chides Vesper.

I grumble, glancing back at the idiots who continue to laugh and jeer towards me. I sigh, taking a breath as I lean forward on the armrest in front of me.

I'll show them. Once I get my bearings, they would've _wished_ they didn't cross me.

* * *

L _ **ike the internet, music, radio and television have become a more prominent part of daily life in Panem. After a long shift at work, families find the time to hunker down in their living rooms for an hour or two of television. Sitcoms and game shows are quite popular. For the youth, "Panemian Bandstand" is what they rush home to after school and on weekends. On the radio, crime dramas such as Captain Panem are played aloud on evenings. Typically, the sign off time for a broadcasting day is 10PM. 24/7 broadcasting is usually more common in the Capitol and other areas.**_

 _ **As you watch television, you are constantly bombarded with public service announcements about a variety of topics, such as military recruitment, alerting a Peacekeeper to rebellious activities and hanky-panky before marriage.**_

* * *

 _ **thedewynterdynasty . wordpress . com**_

 _ **theluckyfewhg . wordpress . com for the victors if you'd like to see. Nothing charged there. Viewing pleasure.**_

 ** _+2 new posts on "The Capitol Post!"_**

 ** _Thank you for your continued reading of my works. Spag, spag spag. I've noticed and its getting better! I for one love Capitol chapters, given my headcannon there's a lot to play around with. We're almost to the games, that's pretty cool. Hehe._**

 ** _Thank you once again, I appreciate it. The chapters might get slightly longer like these just to accommodate._**

 ** _*Wonderful,Wonderful! (1963)- The Tymes or Johnny Mathis (1957) . . . I prefer The Tymes' version._**


	12. Chariot Rides!

_**Haus Der Toten; The 95th Hunger Games**_  
 _ **Opening Ceremonies-Chariot Parade!**_

* * *

 ** _7/30/17: Woops! I forgot District 7!_**

* * *

 _ **The Capitol during the Hunger Games season is quite a site to behold. The social politics during this time is very cutthroat. Even in the Districts, those who have gotten with the program- such as organized crime rackets, profit off of betting odds, kills and the like. There are many stakes to gain, and so many to lose. Taverns, nightclubs and speakeasy's are epicenters for risky bets, backroom deals and settling scores.**_

 _ **The government usually looks the other way when it comes to organized crime, depending on the situation. The common men within these syndicates serve as the eyes and ears for them, making it much easier to regulate the Distr**_ **icts.**

* * *

 _ **Viondra DeWynter, Vice-President of Panem**_

 **Downtown- City Hall, Thursday May 11th, 2158, 7PM. Capitol City.**

* * *

Matilda's incessant cries continue to fill the room as I doze away on a couch.

I groan, swinging my feet towards the floor as I stand upright, rolling my shoulders as I look at the bassinet and the miniature arms that reach out from it.

As I saunter towards the bassinet, I look out the window, watching the sunset over the Avenue of Tributes from City Hall. Fellow Capitolites begin to flock to their seats and sky-boxes, awaiting the parade of tributes.

" _Yes, yes_ Maltilda I'm coming quit your bawling." I mutter, scooping up the fussy little being, clutching her by the back of her neck as she suddenly stops her wailing. She coos, her blue eyes blinking rapidly at the sight of her mother.

 _Ever since I was a teenager, I decided motherhood wasn't my thing. You could say I'm more of a money-making, go-getter type of girl. Who needs motherhood and all its chains when you have jewels, magazine covers, sleek limousines and Avoxes at your whim? Matilda is a vessel for these things, a "continuation of the tree" if you will- through me, she'll carry on the family tree- and the political foothold we currently have._

"What is it child, _don't you know_ that mothers need sleep too?" I say flatly, reveling in her newborn baby smell. She whines, her sharp nails raking across my cheeks, my shoulder, then the sweetheart neckline of my dress as she tugs downward, resulting in me quickly flicking her hand away.

"Yeah, that's not happening Matilda. Thanks for the growth though, they really fill out my dresses." I say, adjusting my bust. Matilda doesn't seem to care. I wince as the baby lets out a fitful wail.

 _What, you think I'm typical and self serving? "What about baby Matilda, your obligation as a mother, rah rah raah!" This is the Capitol, there are stakes to be made and people who make them. Sink or Swim, do or die. It's the pecking order that I love so much. That she will like so much. Its best to break her in now while her mind is still impressionable, even with mundane things such as nursing. Anyway, back to the child._

"Hey you, Avox? You're needed." I snap my finger, a smug smile spreading across my lips as she quickly walks across the room towards me.

"You can nurse, right?" she nods her head rapidly.

"Good," I pass her Matilda. "Take care of her, will you?"

She nods again, soothing Matilda as she's laid back down into her stroller and whisked out of the room. Gideon catches the door before it closes, allowing our Attorney General, Antonius Rose, to saunter in as well.

"You know," begins Antonius, who lights up a _lucky drag_ and sticks it in his mouth. "More and more, baby Matilda looks just like her mommy."

"Here's hoping she doesn't start to _act_ like mommy as well." jokes Gideon, who adjusts his evening coat.

"Whatever grandpa," I wave him off. "What are you two doing here?"

"I thought we could catch up on recent developments involving the Gregory Brown Affair while the three of us make our way down." Gideon motions to the crook of his arm.

Shrugging, I slip on my caribou fur stole before slipping my arm into his elbow while linking my free arm into Antonius', closing the door as we walk towards the reception hall. My protection detail ghosts our every move, lingering in between pillars and curtains.

I glance at Gideon's ensemble, noticing his rather well-kept evening wear- a black tailcoat with a grey vest and pants combo. It's a bipolar opposite from his eccentric fashion sense.

"You clean up good, Gideon."

"You know me Viondra, when the occasion permits, I'm always dressed to the nines."

We round a corner, bounding down velvet steps as the cheers and conversations get louder each second.

"So," I begin, "What of the spies?"

"Captured, half of which were killed on the spot, the other half slated for execution." says Antonius. "If any of them present a decent case for clemency, Avoxing will be their only option."

"What of the whistleblower?"

"A government fellow from District 3. We paid him handsomely, promoted him to Capitolite status. He should be moving his family over soon."

"Excellent. What are the methods being put in place to prevent another fiasco like this?"

"Minister Dorian approved more frequent patrols around each District buffer zone, waterway, and etcetera. The D.I.P system is being cleaned as we speak, freezing deceased citizens' I.D's." drawls Antonius.

"There's one more thing." says Gideon, who passes me a PDA with a list of names. "That's a list of the offenders from highest ranking to the lowest. Person number one will surprise you."

I glance at the list, scoffing as I look at the first listed name. "What are Kane's orders?"

"Up to you, he said." says Gideon.

"We'll wait a little bit longer then." I say, smiling towards onlookers as we reach the reception hall. Cameras flash, people wave our way as we stride to the middle of the room. I break apart from their grasp.

"I'll contact you when I make my decision."

Gideon nods, Antonius following along as the two men move towards the bar and its patrons. I spend a couple minutes schmoozing with fellow bureaucrats, fellow veterans, socialites, senators and assembly members.

 _"Oh Viondra, you look absolutely divine this evening."_

 _"Viondra darling, how is baby Matilda doing? We have to plan a play date with my Francisco sometime in the future!"_

 _"Viondra, you never told me how your trip to South West Africa was!" asks a federal judge, "Oh, they gave you hyenas as a gift? Mars and Jupiter you named them? And you got a couple of bundles of fur for your stoles? Well, you and me have to plan another hunting trip soon! You're still using that Lee-Enfield I gave you right, haha, good!"_

After engaging in short pleasantry, I move past the grand doors onto the balcony, sighing as the cool spring air hits my face. The crowd cheers as my face appears on the jumboscreen, and I oblige them- waving as I take my seat. President Kane is already seated, surrounded by his wife and children.

 _Kane is quite the fool . . . he genuinely thinks he could rip a century old tradition apart and not cause a third rebellion of sorts? We clash so much I'm surprised he hasn't sacked me already. Then again, as he's an independent he needs me to keep his coalition together or else bye bye to the presidency. The next four years will be interesting indeed._

President Kane nods towards me and I do so in return, my eyes glue back to the PDA Gideon gave me. I scan over the names once more.

 _Leaks . . . I hate leaks. Well, this is what we get when we expose ourselves to the muck of the world. We end up tracking in dirt. If you're confused, you should check "The Capitol Post", there are some scandalous developments going on. It's funny how people try to take a moral stance, yet sink to the "lows" of the persons they lament. Luckily for me, the doe is in my crosshair and all I need is to pull the trigger._

My eyes catch Head Gamemaker Thames Hyperion's. Hesitant as ever, he raises his glass towards me, awkwardly raising it back down as I make no moves to return his gesture.

He can wait. Enough politics, bring on the tributes. Here's hoping the stylists have some sort of creativity in their bones this year.

* * *

 ** _Joyceta Rodriguez, 13, Snow Island  
Co-Victor of the 94th Hunger Games._**

* * *

The title of "Victor" still feels so . . . _surreal._

Now that it's basically been a year, I still feel out of place among the much older pool of Victors. I'm not quite sure who or what to thank. Should I thank sheer luck- that the Gamemakers didn't equate Francisco and I's refraining from fighting each other as defiance and letting the mutts swarm us? Or should I thank myself for having the willpower to get things done, to overcome the odds and to keep fighting no matter what came our way?

I guess we could say it was a mixture of both those things.

Joyceta Rodriguez and Francisco Noriega, two twelve year old orphans from the streets of Havana, to the youngest Victors in the history of the nation- on a whim. From being one of the many starving children across the country, to having babies being named after you, people head over heels for you and a crown being plopped on your head.

I can't help but feel slightly scared at the sudden change. I'm scared for the tributes we will mentor, wondering if my advice will translate into tangible results. My biggest fear is knowing that my potential tributes will be inspired by Francisco and I's actions, only for them to die thinking they could pull it off too.

I grip Francisco's arm as our escort Melanie leads us into an elevator, our senior mentor Hannibal following right behind us. I've never been good with crowds, usually feeding off of Francisco's energy to get me through the banquets and hordes of admirers.

"You guys look so cute, holding hands the way you are!" chirps Melanie as she presses a button.

"¿Estás pensando lo que estoy pensando?" whispers Francisco. _You thinking what I'm thinking?_

 _"_ ¿Que esto es tan abrumador?" I reply in his ear. _What, that this is all so overwhelming?_

"Don't be overwhelmed." says Hannibal as Francisco and I jump at his words, unaware he could hear us.

"It'll be okay children. Just be sure to be polite, mingle and enjoy the festivities, you've earned the right!" trills Melanie. "You're now a part of something _much higher_ than where you were not too long ago!"

Apart of something bigger, she says. She has a point. We're Careers. We have just as much clout as any of the upper Districts. They seemed nice during the Victory Tour, but being the odd people out, the new kids to the club- still gives me butterflies.

The elevator door opens, revealing a fancy suite overlooking the Avenue of Tributes. Victors and escorts turn and Smile at Melanie as she announces her greeting. Our escort quickly darts to the famous pop singer and District 3 escort Doris as the two kiss cheeks. District 3's mentor embraces Hannibal as the two exchange a hearty laugh. The others seem to gravitate towards Melanie and Hannibal, and begin chatting amiably among one another as smooth jazz plays in the background.

They all seem so . . . calm and relaxed?

Judging by all the drama with tribute deaths and the parents, the failure to bring a kid home safely among other things, you would think the room would be much more tense and muted. Instead, everyone seems to get along like old friends regardless of the stereotypes and rivalries that are pinned to each District.

"Franciscorino, get over here buddy!" a younger boy calls. I identify him as Glisten from District 1. Francisco glances at me with a worried look in his eyes, smiling as I release his hand. As he runs over to Glisten, it appears I'm left alone, until a finger prods my shoulder.

"H-h-hey!"

I turn to see a meek looking girl, long blonde hair and soft features. Accompanying her is a dark-skinned girl, a redhead and a pale looking girl. All are slightly older than me of course.

"Hey there," I say, returning her smile. "You guys must be Gwendolyn, Zinnia, Piper and Ainsley, right? We're all from the same decade. I'm sorry. The Victory Tour was a blurr to me."

"Yep, it's okay though! My tour was a blurr to me as well, I just wanted to get it over with." says Zinnia with a nod.

"And _youu_ must be our most recent addition to the Victor club." says Piper.

"That's me, Joyceta Rodriguez, Snow Island- _Co-Victor of the 94th Hunger Games._ "

"Well Joyceta, welcome to the club." winks Ainsely, "You got a lotta spunk, the way you handled your arena. I don't think anyone else could've done it. You're a very strong girl, Joyceta."

"Thanks Ainsely," I say with a sad smile. "Technically we all share the same story, right? All of us, younger Victors just doing what we gotta do to survive."

She nods, alongside Zinnia, Piper and Gwendolyn. "I guess you're right Joyceta . . . I guess you're right." she motions towards the crowd of adults, "How about we show you around before Marceline calls for you, y'know, let you get to know the others a little bit more?"

Nodding, I smile as we all link arms and join the crowd, they too seeming receptive of us as we listen in on Kaiser speaking about his upcoming movie. The other Victors begin to include me too, joking with me, the upper District mentors congratulating my victory and combat skills I displayed in the arena. Zenobia of District 2 declares us _"badasses"_ and that _"I'll never look at a pipsqueak the same again."_

I had the pleasure of meeting 109 year old Berglind Jonsdottir from District 2. It's amazing how sharp she is for such an advanced age. She's one of the handfuls of people in the country that's seen it all.

"It's an honor to meet you Ms. Jonsdottir, truly. I've studied all your strategies!" I say, blushing as she pinches my cheeks telling me how cute I am.

"Congratulations on your victory, child." she says slowly, "You remind me a lot of myself back in the day, I could tell you've been studying my strategies. Hit fast and hard before they know what hit 'em!" she lets out a chuckle.

She leans in, gently holding my shoulders in place. "I know it seems _confusing_ at first, just go with the flow for now. Life as a Victor comes to you not the other way around."

I nod, thanking her as I escort her back towards the circle of escorts and Victors. As I join in on the chorus of laughter as Kaiser makes a joke, I decide that maybe this group isn't as intimidating as I thought. Slowly but surely, they feel more and more like the family I never had.

In the future, I'll need to ask one of them about how they managed to keep such a mellow atmosphere year after year.

* * *

 ** _Marceline Devereaux, aged 59,  
Master of Ceremonies. _**

* * *

Away from the stables and the executive skyboxes is the media party platform. Interns rush to and fro, applying make up to the Master of Ceremonies, Marceline Devereaux, her Co-hosts Chad Blakely, Jaclyn Takeinowa and Hermes Lancaster. All four newscasters are in high spirits, it was a Hunger Games after all.

"Fifty seconds until broadcast ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves!" announced a stage attendant. Chad applies pomade to his hair, padding down his hair as he turns towards Marceline.

"How's my tie look Marcie?" asked Chad, who leaned in to give Marceline a better look.

"You look dashing Chad, it matches the pocket square." Marceline said, spraying hairspray over her head and motioning towards Hermes who does the same thing. The two journalists toss their respective cans towards one another. Jaclyn dodged the incoming cans, all while applying her lipstick.

Marceline enjoyed the chariot rides ever since she was a little kid! She and her good colleague Chad always had a thing for the Careers. Since high school they would always pool together extra bucks for item to sponsor their favorites.

"Ten seconds!"

The four journalists rush to their seats at the round table as the cameras boot up. Jaclyn and Hermes on the far outer edges while Chad and Marceline took the inner seats. Marceline could barely contain her excitement. She was desperate to know more about the pool of tributes this time around, and now she was finally getting a better glimpse into what she could expect! She wondered what type of outfits would be in play this year!

Five, four, three, two on-

 _ **"Ladies and Gentlemen, Goood Evening to you, welcome to the 95th Annual Hunger Games tribute parade- with your Master of Ceremonies, Marceline Devereaux and her Co-hosts Chad Blakely, Hermes Landcaster and Jaclyn Takeinowa!"**_

"Gooooooooooooooooooooooood evening Panem- it's your host, Marceline Devereaux, bringing to you tonight the chariot rides _, right here_ in Capitol City!" Marceline cheered.

"This live coverage of the parade is brought to you by . . ."

 ** _ZIP! Automotive Company; "Get there!"_**

"I just bought the 59' Zip! Starfire in teal, the fins are bigger this year for sure!" Marceline said, to the smile of Chad.

"This was also brought to you by . . ."

 ** _Pepa-Cola soft drinks- "Add some pep in your step!"_**

"And . . ."

 _ **Pan-American Railways and Airways- "Come ride with us!"**_

"Yes yes, it's a good evening for a chariot ride! It's a cool ten degrees Celsius. The sun is not due to set until at least nine-thirty, leaving the sky a humble greyish purple." said Chad.

"Here's hoping the special effects will be visible!" added Marceline, "It's only a matter of time until we see our first legitimate glimpse of the tributes since the reapings! Also joining us soon will be Joyceta Rodrieguez and Francisco Noriega of the previous Hunger Games, so stay tuned! Until then, enjoy the Nakashima Brothers as they perform _"Sugar"_!

* * *

 ** _"The Spirited."_**

 ** _Vincent Barlow, 18, District 1_**

* * *

"Keep it moving seven, if you know what's good for ya!" I say, smirking as his female District partner berates him on his idiotic performance. The eight of us laugh as she slugs him in the shoulder, prompting the boy to cry out in pain.

Who does he think he is? Some random fourteen year old from an outlying District trying to give Career tributes the business. It won't end well for him, that's for sure!

Not necessarily because of me, of course- but the District 2 femme seems a little wonky this year. Everyone else seemed to enjoy the banter, unfortunately Aliyah is taking it to heart.

Yeah, it's the Hunger Games and all, and we're careers- _killing_ and stuff, but she's a different case that's for sure.

"I can't wait until the arena, hmph," Aliyah blows a few strands of hair upward. "They'll wish they didn't open their pathetic mouths after I jab a _knife_ through their throats."

Rafaela, Snow Island's female, seems to have picked up on the "harshness" of her words. " _Oye . . . oye_ , relax Aliyah, no need to get so worked up." she frowns, her Spanish accent making the statement much more amusing than she meant for it to be.

Rafaela remains stoic as Aliyah takes a step forward towards the younger girl.

"No need to get worked u-?" Aliyah splutters, her face contorted in an amusing scowl as if someone had said something overly outrageous, "It's the _Hunger Games_ Snow Island, _none of this_ is a joke." she seethes, ignorant of the confused faces that surround her. Her partner, Merlyn, seems quite amused with the display. Aliyah fits the mold of a Two alright- militaristic and ferocious . . . Not to mention _extremely_ uptight.

Rafaela's partner, Nicolao steps in. "Dios mío, Aliyah take it easy . . ."

"I'll take it easy when I'm Victor, _thank you_." she retorts.

Luana and I take an uneasy glance at one another. _What the heck happened, we were all fine and dandy two minutes ago?_

I guess its all apart of the Games! There's always a twist, budding dramas and situations. Like the seven boy, Aliyah is just one of the many intriguing characters that makes up the fun of the Hunger Games. The hardboiled Career, the scrappy youngin', the unhinged outlier, it's what makes the games interesting I say.

Before anyone else could add in their two cents, an announcement on the PA system informs us to mount our chariots.

"Whatever, we'll talk later." scoffs Aliyah, "Just _get out_ there and look pretty for all the cameras.".

Skylar and Kite alongside Aliyah and Merlyn quickly mount their chariots as Luana and I share identical frowns of confusion.

"I wonder what that was all about." I say as my frown turns into slight smile. I extend a hand to her and she gladly takes it, mounting the chariot as we await the movement of the horses.

"I'm not quite sure, but worrying about her can wait until later. Right now we have our _own_ test to pass.".

A moment passes, and the slight altercation slips our mind as Luana pinches my shoulder at the sound of the PA system telling us to prepare.

"Well here we are, the beginnings of our finest hour right here!" cheers Luana.

" _I know_ , it's exhilarating!" I begin. "Years of begging my Mom to stay up late to watch all the showings- only to be on them right now is . . . I can't really describe it."

"Same!" she replies with a soft sigh. "We have nothing but good things going for us right now. Let's show them what the luxury District is all about, shall we?"

I smile in agreement, remembering what Glisten said to us while we were on the train, " _You have your family, an entire District and the Capitol rooting for you. These are your Games to take."_

Eighteen years of dreaming, studying . . . and here I am, on the grandest stage of them all. _Look out_ Panem, here comes Vincent Barlow in all his glory!

* * *

 _ **"The Thoughtful."**_

 _ **Marcia "Cia" Mata, 13, District 11.**_

* * *

"Everyone looks so nice . . ." I murmur. Not that I didn't look nice of course, but the others look interesting as well.

I watch as stylists put their finishing touches on District 10's tributes. They seemed to be dressed as cowboys, with stetsons, cow skin vests and checkered red shirts with jeans and boots. Cian is currently in conversation with the male, a dark skinned boy named Tybalt, I'm happy for him.

"Not as nice as you do Cia!" chirps my stylist Eve, who adjusts the straps of my suspender-skirt-dress combo as she quickly moves on to fix the olive branch headband on my head.

"Gee, thanks Eve." I grumble in confusion, tapping my chariot and tugging my outfit as my stylist raises an eyebrow. "I'm not sure how to say it . . ."

"What's wrong?" asks Eve.

"I think she's worried about why everyone else looks so "complete" while we look . . . plain." finishes Cian, smiling as I nod my thanks.

Besides our fruit decorated chariot, our outfits were a plain white. My entire dress and headpiece excluding my black flats were colored this way. If someone in the audience were to compare my outfit to the likes of District 9, who are dressed like um . . . _wheat Indians_?, then I think the audience would go with District 9 over us.

Eve shakes her head with a coy smile on her lips, as if she were fully aware of her design choice. She gives Cian a clicker or something along the lines of that.

"What's that clicker thingamabob?" I say, pointing at it.

"Let's just say that once Cian clicks it, your wont be looking so plain anymore." Eve winks, turning over to Cian. "When the anthem reaches its crescendo and the second stanza begins, click the button. Basically, when you guys reach the middle of the avenue and you see the others doing the same."

"Will do." Cian nods, adjusting his position on the chariot as Eve pulls away and the other tributes begin mounting their chariots.

The Careers seem happy, judging by the large screen television off to the side. All eight of them seem extremely ecstatic, especially the District 1 pair who seem to barely contain themselves as they bounce around the chariot.

Hmmm, they're lucky, considering how lightly they treat the Games. Don't they know they'll be at each other's throats as soon as the gong goes off?

Then again, I wish _I_ were in a Career District, where I would be safe and sound- not having to worry about being reaped because of all the tessarae I take out. Maybe then Ma and Papa wouldn't be fighting as much and people would take my singing seriously! Better yet, the Capitol would be even better in terms of living. The city was everything I imagined it to be. If only my singing took off.

I could imagine it all now, my name in lights with zillions of fans! Cia Mata- the girl with the golden voice!

Too bad I'll probably never have the chance . . .

As I drift off in my thoughts, I notice a head a few chariots down- an oriental boy looking directly at me. I peg him as District 6. His beady eyes blink once, twice even, as the two of us stare at one another. I send him a hesitant wave, smiling as the same expression emerges on his lips.

Or maybe I do have a chance! Don't beat yourself up Marica, it's slim, but it's _still_ a chance.

* * *

 ** _Marceline Devereaux, 59,  
Master of Ceremonies_**

* * *

"And we're back!" cheered Marceline while she gestured to the two young Victors who sat in-between Chad and herself. "And joining us this fine evening is _Joyceta_ _Rodriguez and Francisco Noriega_ of Snow Island- Victors of the 94th Hunger Games!"

Marceline turned to them, overjoyed and perplexed such young children were capable of winning. The crowd cheered wildly at the sight of the two youngest Victors in history. Francisco was taking it in stride, while Joyceta smiled with a cute sheepishness.

They were young- and dare Marceline think this way- _very_ good looking as well . . . it was only a matter of time when their hundreds of thousands of admirers stepped up their love a little bit more than just posters and selfies.

Marceline shook the thought from her head. She was guilty of these things as well, paying for the company of many Victors in exchange for sponsorship items . . . Finnick Odair, Enobaria Golding . . . Zenobia Rivendell just to name a few . . .

"So _Joycisco,_ how's it goin'?" Marceline smiled.

"Hola Marceline, hola Chad, hola everyone!" the two children said in unison as they waved meekly towards the cameras.

"It's going well Miss Devereaux thanks for asking." said Joyceta who seemed flushed with nervousness as she smiled meekly.

"The Victors Village is amazing, thank you Capitol for the goodies you've given us!" added Francisco.

"Good, _very good_ \- I'm glad you two lovebirds are enjoying the Capitols good graces!"

"This evening as our two recent Victors know _very well,_ is a _very very very import_ ant night for our current tributes. Many sponsors will be out tonight on the prowl, looking for impressionable tributes." said Marceline.

The camera panned the audience, who focus in on the underpass in which the tributes are set to emerge. The camera then pans to the Victors executive box, focusing on the Victors and their escorts who wave towards the cameras.

"Very true Marceline- about _one hundred thousand spectators_ this time around, that figure includes the surrounding buildings and rooftops!" added Chad.

"Yep, with the Hunger Games apparently coming to a close on the fourth quarter quell- I suppose people are feeling extra festive this year. The significance can't be understated.

Marceline, Chad and young Victors stood up out of their seats as the opening stanza of the anthem blares. The crowd begins to roar as the first glimpse of chariots begin their advance towards the city circle. Torches lit the route, blending in nicely as the sky changed into a purple hue. Musicians line the road, beating large drums along the way. Just behind the lines of musicians stand the statues of each and every Hunger Game Victor, prideful and astute.

The statues for V-#74 are absent, if one really sat down and focused.

"Oop here they are, the tributes!"

"Snow Island leads the pack of course with Rafaela Novia and Nicolao Lucritus. Of course, they bring the Caribbean glitz and glam with a peacock bikini for Rafaela and the trunks for Nicolao!"

Rafaela blows kisses towards the audience as Nicolao tosses beads and leis toward the spectators.

"Could you explain those outfits to us Francisco or Joyceta?"

"Oh um, those outfits are commonly used for festivals and night shows in Snow Island."

"I ought to visit Snow Island again! District 1 of course has a _steamy_ gold and gem encrusted one piece and cape with accessories for Luana Evison and a tunic, cape and matching accessories for the Vincent Barlow."

Both District 1 tributes grip each other's shoulders, waving as the crowd cheers their names.

" _Wow wow wow,_ Luana is looking like a hot tamale! Not to mention Mister Barlow and all his handsomeness."

"You know what they say Chad- District 1- the District that keeps us bedazzled and bejeweled all year round!"

"District 2 of course with the nod to ancient times- Aliyah with her silk gown, belt and scarf adorned with bits of rock- while Merlyn has his body armor and olive branch crown with red skirt."

Both tributes of District 2 remain stoic, hands raised in the air as a motion of unity.

"District 3- Evara and Herrick, dressed as scientists with _"data vines"_ coursing through their lab coats of course. I didn't notice till now, but Herrick looks like a lower District dweller for sure!"

"District 4 is coming in with their water god and goddess outfits- bikini for Skylar and trunks for Kite of course."

"Yes Marceline, their outfits looking as if they were _individually_ welded with fish scales or seashells of some sort. Kite looks devilishly handsome tonight, not to mention Skylar looking much different without her edgy reaping attire!"

"Here's District 5 following with their wire gowns and suit. Without District 5, Panem will forever be in darkness of course! Look at Occo and Valentina waving and holding hands! They go together like a dog and a flea! Both look awfully nervous, but at least they're good sports about it all, and I like that!"

"-Oop, oop, here comes District 6 with their porter uniforms of course! Our sleek hovercrafts and fancy automobiles hail from Detroit!"

"They don't call it the motor city for nothing Marceline. Orville seems to be a good sport, but Cveta seems out of it? She looks a little loopy."

"I dunno Chad. Word on the street is Cveta was behaving badly behind the scenes!"

"Ah! I understand, _ehehehe_."

"Next up, we have District 7! Landry and Tamir seem to be sporting lumberjack outfits this time around! They certainly look ready to rumble, as do most District 7 tributes. Here's hoping some of Celosia's mentoring rubs off on them."

"It looks like it certainly has so far Marceline! I mean, just look at how eager Tamir looks. Landry seems to be less eager than her male counterpart, but still partaking in the evening none the less!"

"So following the lumberjacks is _District 8_ , showcasing the latest fashion trends of the mid century atomic age- a conservative suit, pocket square and all with a trilby hat for the gentlemen represented by James and a gingham halter dress for the ladies represented by Adele!"

"Their costumes seem to be patchwork, welded together by different fabrics, hmmm interesting!"

"And then we have District 9 with an interesting native Indian design going on. Rianne with a skirt made out of wheat stalks and a brown bandeau with matching moccasin boots, Mentan with the same sort of getup and face painting to boot! Oh look, Chad, they're waving right at us! Hey guys! I feel so special!"

"A very nice and new design cue for District 9, I applaud the stylist for their originality!"

"And now we move on to District _te-yun!_ They look ready to gather up a posse and rustle up a cow or two! Cowboy and Cowgirl outfits for Joelle and Tybalt. Chad, don't you own a ranch out there!? Hey, and your daughter Harriet is the escort for ten!"

"Mhm, District 10 will always have a place in my heart. The people are extremely down to earth."

"District 10s cousin, District 11 is looking absolutely amazing with their farmer outfits, you know, overalls with the sickle for Cian and the basket backpack for Marcia . . . they appear to be all white for some reason, I wonder why."

Chad shrugged. "Maybe the special effects will remedy this! Regardless, Cian is exactly what I expected him to be, like most young men hailing from the agricultural District, he's stoic, bulky and composed! Boys like him are always a sight to behold. Marcia seems to be having a little fun, waving to the younger spectators in the audience."

"And last but not least, District 12. The crowd seems gentle this year! They seem to have gone with the traditional route. Lumina wears a halter dress and checkered apron with a woven basket, while Jai appears to be a . . . baker? Woah, hold _on there_ Jai! Lucky Lumina seems to have a hold on him, as Jai seems to be spooked out about something! I think he's babbling about " _not wanting to go back!" again._ That boy is something else. What's your opinion Chad?"

"Their outfits are an interesting pick! Although it has nothing to do with mining production, District 12 has a very distinct small town feeling to it if you have the . . . pleasure to visit! It's a very traditional place, where everyone knows their neighbor. I wouldn't imagine anything else for a District of 130,000 people."

"You got that right Chad! I believe that wraps up the outfits for now. What are your overall thoughts Chad?"

"I really enjoy the differences between each District and Territory. I love how each of them have their own cultures and perceptions, it's what makes our nation truly unique!"

"You know what else makes them unique . . .?" piped up Joyceta.

"What's that kiddo?"

Joyceta pointed towards the main camera that follows the procession. As the anthem reaches its crescendo and the chariots near the city circle, each half of each Districts' partner clicks a button given to them.

The anthem intensifies as each chariot burst with special effects relating to their Districts profession.

For example, District 11's chariot and their outfits constantly shifted in colour and effect. Such as white and snow for winter and green and rain for spring- the four seasons. District 4 had bubbles, District 7 had leaves blowing, and District 6, 2 and Snow Island had sparks, District 9 had wheat blowing in the air so on and so forth.

The crowd roars with excitement, as spectators snap photos, wave flags and toss roses while chanting the names of their favourites.

"Now _THIS_ is what I enjoy, this is what separates each District from one another. The special effects _further empathize_ each profession distinctly while showcasing the important role that each citizen has to play in the running of our nation and _I LOVE IT_!" cheered Marceline as Chad chuckled and hollered along with the crowd.

The anthem's final stanza blares as the tributes continue to wave as the horses trot into the circle. The crowd continued to cheer themselves ragged as the chariots form a semi circle in front of the podium in which the President will speak.

"What an evening! Please stand by for an address by His Excellency- President Kane, as he's due to speak in a couple of seconds."

 _"One Horn of Plenty for us all!"_ the anthem comes to a close as the President settled into the podium. Dressed in a navy blue overcoat with black accents, he waves a gentle hand over the presiding crowd. As he waves, the cheers are muted in anticipation.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 95th Annual Hunger Games." The crowd let out a cheer.

"Who could forget our guests to the Capitol this year!?" the crowd let out another roar as the President gestured to the tributes below.

Marceline pretended to listen as President Kane spoke about the history of the Hunger Games and what it took for a tribute to overcome among other things. As soon as he mentioned _"We're coming upon one hundred years of Hunger Games "_ the crowd booed, remembering Kane's vow to end them. The audio was quickly shut off.

We wouldn't want unsanctioned broadcasts being let out!

Marceline could swear she saw the smug grins on the faces of Kane's officials behind him. The Vice-President smiled as if she was just in the moment, but Marceline knew she reviled at the jeering. The President continued on without incident.

"Tributes," President Kane bellows, to the roar of the audience. He proceeds to name off each and every tribute reaped this year. The screen would flicker to the face of each tribute as Kane would nod curtly to them, while the tributes who aren't totally perplexed would return the gesture.

"- Lumina Reiss and Jai Matisse, we thank you for your courage and sacrifice. We wish you a happy Hunger Games- and may the odds be ever on your fa _vuh_!"

The camera reverts back to Marceline, Chad and the 94th Co-Victors.

"Well, I believe that concludes our coverage of the opening ceremonies! As you know, I'm Marceline Devereaux!"

"And I'm Chad Blakely alongside Joyceta Rodriguez and Franciso Noriega!"

"And we wish you a good evening! You may now resume your regular scheduled programming."

* * *

 ** _"The Empathetic."_**

 ** _Adele Havillard, 16, District 8._**

* * *

As the President finished his speech, the anthem begins once again as the chariots return to their single file line.

"They really like us this year!" James yells over the awestruck audience.

"I guess they really do!" I reply, waving at the part of the audience who chant our names.

I manage to catch a rose, pointing and waving to the woman who tossed it as the people around her shriek with enjoyment.

This entire parade was a shot of confidence that's for sure. The outfits were sweet and the crowd was receptive of both us and the District. To top it all off, James and I played our roles like we were supposed to. Nothing went astray for us tonight.

Even though deep down, the pain of being reaped and possibly being marked for death hasn't subsided quite as well. It's not a good thing, but I'm glad I'm being preoccupied with events like these, it softens the blow.

I'm not quite sure if they meant for that to happen or _not._

It also wouldn't help to look dejected, as Mom, Dad, Roland and Harland are most definitely watching. Not to mention Trystian and Darina. I wonder how they all felt when they saw me roll out. Were they joyed to see I was alright? Horrified to know that I'll most likely not make it back? Their daughter, sister, girlfriend and close friend?

It's probably for the best not to think so negative. Mother always said my greatest skill was my interpersonal relationships. If the chariot parade was any example, if I continue to just be me and show a decent front on the physical stuff, then maybe things aren't as bleak as one thinks!

James holds onto me as the chariot shudders into the underpass. Using my friendly intuition, I take a glance at my District partner. James seems to be deep in thought, who could blame the boy really?

"You okay James?" I inquire, gently rubbing his back.

"Yeah, I'm alright. A part of me is glad I'm here, it's like a fresh start in a way."

I nod along with his answer. The Games could serve as a huge image booster. I'm not quite sure how his life back home was, _as I didn't know him_ , but if he feels more expressive here in the Capitol, it's only going to help him more. More power to him.

"Just continue to do you and figure out your way through as you see fit." I say.

Malakai and Janice await us as the chariot comes to a full stop. Judging by the look on their faces- Malakai's slight grin and Janice's giddy twitch as she claps her hands- they too liked our little display.

"As expected you two were _amazing_ out there!" Janice trills, hugging and kissing the cheeks of both of us.

"Great job out there kids." Grins Malakai as he reaches out for a high five, he smiles even more as we oblige him. "Maintain that standard and you'll have a chance for sure." Malakai nods, gesturing towards the elevator.

"Let's head upstairs towards our penthouse. We have a big day tomorrow and you'll need your sleep."

Tributes, Victors and escorts make their way across the Training Centre Lobby- making small talk among ourselves as we gather around three elevator shafts. The lobby itself is massive, taking the form of a large circular rotunda with signature eagle emblem taking up the entire polished floor we walk on. Off to the side near the doors is a large service desk. Giant portraits of President Snow, the current President and the Vice-President take up the wall behind the desk, as well as clocks showing the time zones between each District.

Malakai is about to usher us through towards the middle elevator before a young man with slicked brown hair, chiseled face and a grey suit shoves everyone aside as a dozen people follow behind him. As I focus on their faces one more time, I notice that they were the Career tributes, alongside their mentors- lead by Glisten Hemingway.

"EXCUSE ME, CAREER DISTRICT PRIORITY, CAREERS COMING THROUGH PLEASE MAKE WAY, SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE AT THIS TIME!" he yells, shoving past everyone as Snow Island, 1, 2 and 4 board the elevator and only waiting before Berglind slowly enters last.

"Thank you for your cooperation!" Glisten sniggers, the entire elevator bursting into laughter as the door closes. Their little stunt leaves us cranky and grumbling as the elevators open up.

"They're very ignorant." pipes up a girl beside me as we enter the elevator. The cowgirl outfit gives her away as District 10.

I scoff slightly, "Tell me about it, and they've only won _one_ time this decade. If you ask me, they have _nothing_ to be cocky about."

We both share a laugh, sighing as the elevator ascends.

I've got a good hunch for good people, and District 10 pegs me as _good enough_. She's young-ish like me and judging by her reaping, she also has a down to earth and loving family. It's almost as if we're cut from the same cloth.

"I'm Adele," I say, extending my hand, "And you are . . .?"

" _Joelle_ , Joelle Castro." She answers with a smile.

I nod, saying her name one more time as the elevator stops at our floor. As James, Malakai and Janice step out, I make my way out as well only for her hand to grip onto mine.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" she asks, her expression sheepish as her lips twitch into a hopefully smile.

I return her smile, shaking her hand once more as from the corner of my eye, Annabelle Starling and her escort smile at the display in front of them.

"Of course, I'll be glad to see you again."

* * *

 _ **Yep! Just about anyone can sponsor really. Very common in the Capitol of course, but uncommon in the lower Districts, especially when the prices hike. In terms of the District the pooling of money would be needed to sponsor a tribute with significant equipment that one would need . . . but you know, money is a hard commodity to get.**_

* * *

 _ **No new website stuff, I'll make more for the next time. I hope you liked this kooky format I came up with. Thanks for reading.**_

 _ **Look at me, in the Capitol now. Hehehe.**_


	13. Training Pt One

_**Haus Der Toten; 95th Hunger Games**_  
 _ **Training Part One!**_

* * *

 _ **Ever since the 76th Hunger Games, in an effort to combat any attempt to tamper/destroy an arena- the Gamemakers devised countermeasures. In the end, the government chose a powerful Artificial Intelligence system -a "Gamekeeper", to keep tabs on the tributes as they ventured the arena. The likeness of the interface takes after the child forms of the masterminds who came up with the Hunger Games a century ago- Doctors "Vi" Glassman and "Pax" Westbrook.**_

 ** _Both were revered military scientists, creating many of the muttations we see today. There's plenty of blood on their hands. All in all, for them, another death is another mental note for their records. Every reaction, every mental deliberation is another algorithm._**

* * *

 _ **"The Gullible."**_

 _ **Mentan Upton, 13, District 9.**_

* * *

The de-polarization of the windows has me groaning in annoyance, as I shield my head with my sheets in an attempt to seek refuge from the brightness of outside. Not to mention the noise of the Capitol streets below.

"Wakey wakey, training day has comeeee!" Sindy chirps, jostling my shoulders as I sluggishly shove her away. This room was probably the only place I felt _secure_ in this city. Why couldn't I just be home with Mom, Dad and Raiden for crying out loud?

I'd rather be anywhere but here, _anywhere._

Sindy gently peels away at my comforter, prompting me to yelp as she grabs me by my shoulders and rests me against the headboard. For a prissy Capitol woman only a handful of years older than I am, she was freakishly strong.

"Come on Mentan, you have a big beautiful day ahead of you!" Sindy croons with a bright, full teeth smile. It's as if she was unaware of her forcefulness just now. _"_ First, you'll need some food in your belly!"

As if on cue I become conscious of the emptiness in my stomach, the typical feeling one gets when they initially wake up. Although I wouldn't blame it _all_ on hunger though . . .

"I guess food wouldn't hurt?"

"No it wouldn't!" she answers, "You must try _something,_ anything! Capitol breakfasts are unlike anything you've ever tasted!"

"If you say so . . ."

Sindy tuts, her hips swaying and heels clicking as she struts towards the closet. "I _know_ so Mentan, now _up, up, up_! Put this uniform on then join us downstairs!"

As she leaves with a playful wave, I saunter over to the foot of my bed where the outfit lays. I appear to be looking at a blue button up tennis shirt with gold and silver accents on each arm. On the left arm at the side is a large black "9". The pants are black, slim track pants with sturdy boots and socks to boot.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I take the outfit towards the washroom. The knots in my stomach become even more tangled as I prepare for the inevitable.

* * *

"There you are Mentan, _come come_ , you must try the pancakes they are divine as usual!" Sindy calls from the open kitchen, Rianne sitting beside her as she eats away at her breakfast.

Clutching the banister, I'm still taken aback from our penthouse, as everything after the parades was a blurr- I too tired to pay attention to detail. The main room looked like something out of a department store catalog. It was the prime example of the current trends sweeping the entire nation. Lounge chairs and sofas with geometric leg shapes, wallpaper with starbursts, so on and so forth with a splash of pastel colours.

"Hey Rianne, how's it going?" I say, giving the Avox space as she leaves a hot plate of pancakes in front of me.

She smiles, her grey eyes bright. "Hey Mentan, I'm okay . . . just trying to wrap my head around things, how about you?"

I struggle to muster up a smile, slipping a strawberry into my mouth. "Trying to do the same thing I guess."

We continue to eat, as Sindy chats on about how the pancakes tasted, asking us how they were to us as we replied in kind. Her mouth runs a mile per minute on the most mundane of topics. Our overly vapid escort stops her tirade mid-sentence as she glances at the clock.

"Oh yes, your training starts within the next hour! The next three days are very very important, so be sure to soak up as much information as your brains can register!" she trills with a sip of orange juice.

"I might not be a Second Rebellion veteran, or a Victor, but I do know my stuff about training and other things!"

Rianne raises an eyebrow. "How do they select you guys anyway?"

"I attend the University of Panem, Coriolanus Campus! The official name of the program _is "District Affairs Liason"_. It's a two year program, accredited by the federal government!"

"And they teach you about weapons and stuff too?"

"I don't know a lot about the intimacies or whatever, Rianne, just enough Hunger Game knowledge throughout the past ninety-five years that I can pass on to you on a whim! So once you guys come back upstairs, I'll be happy to advise you after you give a rundown!"

Rianne slugs down her apple juice with a nod. "I learned something new today."

Sindy nods as she mews a _"Mhm!",_ "Have you guys thought about allies, possible _weaponsss_ , so on and so forth . . . ?!"

Rianne and I exchange a quick glance.

Rianne shakes her head. "Not yet, Sindy . . ."

"No." I add.

"Hmm . . . so why don't you guys partner up!" Sindy exclaims with a raised index finger. That was probably her first ever "Eureka!" moment in her twenty years of life. Regardless, she frowns as the room slips into an awkward silence.

Rianne bites her lip, smiling slightly towards me. I save her the words.

"It's okay Sindy, Rianne can find someone more suited to her mindset. It's easier to be alone."

"Are you sure sweetie?" Sindy frowns as Rianne gives a regard of concern before focusing on her breakfast, an attempt to detach from the conversation.

"Erm . . ." I keep silent. I don't need a pity party and besides, if we remain tied down, we'd have to deal with the possibility of each other's deaths. At least when we're apart, we don't have to deal with the possibility directly. I don't need her to stick with me just because I'm perceived as young and bloodbath-prone. I hate it when they give me that look of sorrow or concern.

Then again, having a mentality like that is pretty deplorable. Everyone needs a boost now and then, especially in a situation like this, but it doesn't mean that the care is _one hundred percent_ genuine. They'll just move on to the next District 9 male.

As we finish up with breakfast and Rianne bounds down towards the elevator where Peacekeepers await us, Sindy clasps me by the shoulder.

"Umm . . . I'm not the smartest tool in the shed, but mother always says I had a knack for empah . . . ehmpath- . . . how do you say it?"

"Empathy . . .?"

" _Yes_ Empathy! That's exactly what she says to me every time I was down in the dumps. I just wanted to say that I believe in you and that I think you're just as good as any other tribute out there."

I glance up at her. I want to believe her. I want to think I'm good enough like everyone else.

"Do you think I'm actually good?"

"I don't think so, I _know s_ o. If the last five Hunger Games showed us any differently Mentan!" Sindy nods earnestly.

Okay. If she genuinely means her words, then I'll gladly take them as solid fact. I trust her words over my thoughts any day of the week. Just go in, learn a few things, maybe meet someone other than Rianne . . . it'll be okay.

Here's hoping for a fruitful day.

* * *

 _ **"The Peculiar"**_

 _ **Jai Matisse, 18, District 12**_

* * *

 _Elena and I walk towards the circle of tributes that begins to formulate around the Peacekeeper in charge of the gymnasium. As I look to my left, the VIP box is in view. The Head Gamemaker, Pelagius Mayfair among other officials, watch us with keen and hateful eyes. After all, the war had just ended a year ago roughly. The hate is still evident no matter where you go._

 _Everyone seems so big compared to Elena and I's tweenage stature. The Careers seem eager as ever, large and imposing as they leer at everyone that isn't them. I don't belong here. I should be at home, in District 12, at school or working at a corner store! Anywhere but here. Out of all the rebels and their children, why me?_

 _"Graelyn, you okay?"_

 _I turn to see Elena tugging at my shoulder._

 _"Graeeelyn, Graeeeelyn, Graeeeelyn?!"_

"JAI!" a sharp sting licks at my face as I wince in pain.

I turn to see Lumina, her face filled with annoyance as other tributes stride by with concerned looks.

"Snap out of it for Snow's sake, you're _causing_ a scene." she lends out her left hand for me to take, which I do. Grunting, she eases me off of the ground as I ruffle the back of my head in embarrassment.

"W-what happened?"

" . . . We had just gotten off the elevator. As soon as we set foot in here you blacked out for five seconds at best." she sets a hand on her hip, tilting as she tapped her foot impatiently.

"Are you ready to go now or do you need a minute or two? The Head Instructor is about to speak so-"

I nod rapidly, wanting to forget about my episode entirely. "Yeah, yeah, yeah I'm okay. _I'm sorry_ Lumina, I'm ready to go now."

"Alright then, let's get on with it then."

With that, we continue our walk towards the crowd of tributes. The Head Gamemaker, Thames Hyperion, among other Capitol bigwigs can be seen in a VIP room as they laugh it up among themselves. He seems to hold his gaze on me, but I withhold mine as I continue my stride. My head aches and my mind feels boggled. All these eyes beaming down on us, beaming down on _me-_ all these shapes and rooms and how they all look so _familiar_.

I suppress a groan as we join the other tributes. Relax, listen and learn. Or else your nightmares will become reality.

A serious dark skinned woman leading a handful of other men and women, stride in from the nearest entryway. Wearing grey military fatigues, the woman strides into the centre of the semi circle as she mounts an elevated platform. The platform increases her already imposing stature- tall, toned and beautiful. Her jet black hair is straightened, but cut short like an average boy.

"Good Morning tributes," she begins, folding her arms as her brown eyes scan us.

"Welcome to the Training Centre. I am Master Sergeant Claudia Floris, Head Trainer of this gymnasium. Please, just call me Claudia. The other men and women here with us today are just as skilled as I am in teaching to you the skills one would need to emerge Victor of a Hunger Game. The simple fact is that twenty-six of you will enter that arena, and only one will come out. In this gym are a multitude of tools one can utilize to dispatch opponents or stay alive."

She takes a quick breath. "Since machines are becoming ever so present in our current age, I'll be leaving it up to _them_ to give you a rundown."

"VI, PAX," Claudia barks to no one in particular, "Introduce yourselves to the tributes."

Then out of nowhere, two children fade into view infront of us. All the tributes, including the cocky Careers, jump back in surprise.

"I am Vi,"

"As I am Pax."

"And _we_ are an advance artificial intelligence system created to help you as you venture your arena. We're charmed to meet you all!"

The boy was dark skinned as the other, the girl, is pale skinned and dressed like any other child in the country. The boy, wears grey slacks, grey striped cardigan, bow-tie and black shoes. The girl wears a white blouse, tucked into a grey skirt with a red belt with black and white shoes. Her hair tied into two long pigtails. Vi and Pax, best described as the annoying and eccentric "Gamekeepers" that keep the tributes informed and on track while adding in their quirky personalities. Judging by what you see on television, they seem to be _completely_ nuts.

"Hmmm, so these are the guinea pi- I mean, _tributes,_ this time around." says Vi. Everyone, Lumina and myself included, continue to stride backward as the holographic child casually approaches us - her hands crossed behind her back as she studied everyone with a keen eye.

"I suppose so, " adds Pax, their Capitol accents very different than the majority. "By the looks of them, they seem capable enough to face what the arena can hold."

"All one needs is _competence._ " says Vi.

"Ah yes, c _ompetence_ is key." says Pax.

"Without it,"

"You've _already_ lost."

They begin talking about the various courses and stations, emphasizing that one who learns about the survival stations just as much as the weapons are just as likely to come out on top, if not more likely than your axe lugging tribute. I repress a smirk as the holograms turn towards the Careers who still seem unnerved at the Capitol technology.

"- And that doesn't mean those weapons will be in the arena for certain. That is all tributes, you're dismissed. Unless Vi and Pax have other things to include as well?"

"No,"

"Not at all." finishes Pax. "That's all from us. We'll be watching!"

"Alright then." nods Claudia as the children dissipate. "You may move to any station of your interest. If you need help, just ask an attendant.".

And with that, the Careers dart off to the combat stations as the others slowly spread out across various stations, leaving Lumina and I alone in the middle of the gym. I shrug, leaving her as I move straight to the knives. They're quick, easy to handle, what's not to like?

 _"OH EHM GEE! look what we have herree . . ." Cessna Embraer, the District 1 female drawls with her croaky voice. "Your ally ditched you and now you're all alone. Hold him down Artemis . . . I call dibs on the first stab!"_

 _Ugh, they're just hallucinations. Just breathe and focus._

After the attendant gives me a rundown on vitals, I quickly go to work on a dummy as I slash its neck and arms, causing red beads to spill out after each cut. Just as I prepare to send the knife into its gut, a sharp _ahem_ stops me. I look to my right and there stands Lumina in all her prissiness.

"Whaddya' want, townie?"

Lumina closes her eyes in thought as she sucks in a breath. "Let'sbeallies."

I squint my eyes and raise my eyebrows. "Wha?"

"Let's be _allies, teammates, partners?_ You know me, and I know you. There's no need to skirt around on our lonesome looking for unreliable hands." she mutters.

My lips twitch into a coy smile. Miss prim and proper, " _I hate this District and everyone in it"_ wants to be allies with Jai eh?

"I thought I was a stupid seam rat and our District was _"The poison of Panem"_? " I mock as I wriggle my eyebrows.

She rolls her eyes. "Maybe I was a little . . . uncouth. Besides, I think you'd want a girl who was heir to the company who made these weapons in the _first_ place."

" _Shut up,_ really!?" I exclaim with a lowered voice.

Her expression is smug as she levels her crossbow. "I've tested this thing more times than any Career has _ever_ had."

"Prove it," _please, she seems more of the type to perfect the art of sipping tea with a raised pinky rather than shooting arrows._ "Show me what you got."

She scoffs. "Okay, let's go."

And so we do, quickly walking over to the projectile station. She seems genuine enough, but she's a townie, prissy, selfish . . . inhibited. Her neck is on the line just as much as mine is, so the relationship is balanced.

Here's hoping I don't get screwed over . . . . like _before_ . . .?

* * *

 _ **"The Collected."**_

 _ **Orville Mullen, 13, District 6**_

* * *

We're into the _fifth_ year of the ninetieth decade of Hunger Games. Of the past four games, we have five Victors.

Of those five Victors, _all_ were under the age of fifteen which is unprecedented. Four years in a row, all of them are technically classed as bloodbath fodder due to their age range- Twelve to Fifteen-ish.

 _Okay,_ now out of the five, how qualified or special were they really?

Joyceta Rodriguez and Francisco Noriega are _technically_ Careers, but they had a zillion close calls, Ainsely Tisdalye of District 12 hid and only killed once. Piper Malveaux of District 5 never killed, she was too smart for the Gamemakers to snuff . . . Gwendolyn Faraday gasses half her competition to death, and she was and _still is_ \- _judging by the television_ \- a frail, unimposing girl. Zinnia Parsons of District 11 killed two people. One kill was made by defence, the other while he was unaware.

 _Technically speaking, t_ he odds are in my favour due to these victories . . . but the more I scope out the competition, my optimism wains.

The Careers of course, being the trained killers that they are, rush to the various tools of destruction strewn around the gymnasium. Some tributes alongside the District 2 and 1 male, watch the District 2 female fire off a burst of rounds from a machine-gun.

She lugs the weapon with _one hand,_ as she seems unfazed by the kickback a gun like that would bring. Casings fly all over the place as pixelated silhouettes dissipate from the bullets.

District 4's tributes alongside the female from Snow Island practice their swipes with tridents and a quarterstaff, shadowing an instructor as he stands on a pedestal.

The girl from District 1 rapidly lobs spear after spear at pixelated silhouettes. She motions for the instructor to fix the settings, smiling as a new lone silhouette appears at least, I dunno, _a hundred_ feet away- that seems too far away to hit anything, right?

She twirls the razor sharp spear in her hand, rolling her shoulders as she lets the weapon fly. It hits the pixel in the head, causing it to explode into tiny yellow cubes.

My stomach sinks as she cranes her head towards me and winks.

Cringing, I quickly turn away as I stare down at my own weapon of choice- a simple knife. I'm thirteen, young, a sword or anything else is too cumbersome let alone something I could decently master in four days. A knife works, it's quick and practical.

I heed Koller and Silvia's advice, _practicality and quick attacks._ The attendant at the small blades station instructs me to swipe at arteries and vitals, which I do perfectly. Every time I swiped at a inner thigh, neck or stomach, I was awarded with the overflow of red beads and the praise of my instructor.

Next I find myself in the tree climbing station, an area built with lush foliage and netting to hone your clambering skills. _"Mobility, you gotta keep movin'. Keep movin' man, you're a young cat, you're both pretty young, it should be easy."_ Koller said to me on the train, so why not add more onto my skillset by learning how to climb?

Unfortunately, being in an urban, six million-people District consisting primarily of industrial parks and skyscrapers, there's very little foliage to climb on.

I don't know how, but shakily, I grab branch after branch until somehow I reach the middle of a long net bridge suspended over the gymnasium. With a labored, uneasy breath, I grab one hinge the next, then another.

As I reach out, the net overturns and my fingers slip , as my heart plunges with my body as I brace for impact. _What will the damage be? Broken leg, shattered back?_

 _Fortunately _,__ the impact doesn't arrive.

"Be careful sillypants, you almost busted your neck with that fall!"

I open my eyes to see a girl, the same girl I had saw from the chariot parades, clutching my hand as she dangles upside down from a tree. She releases herself, as we both fall with an _"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah"_ then an " _Omph!_ " as we collide with a safety cushion.

"The names Marica Mata, District 11. You can call me Cia if you'd like." she says, her face muffled into the mat as she extends her hand for a shake.

I happily return the gesture while rubbing my lower back. "Orville Mullen, District 6."

She quickly maneuvers into a sitting position. "Whereabouts in District 6?"

"Um, Detroit?"

"In Detroiiiiiiiit, concrete jungle where dreams are made of!"

"Huh?" I grunt with a half smile, half confused expression. _So her singing at the reaping really was something._

" _What?_ Nothing. A city boy like you has no place up in the trees like that!"

"Well, I was only trying to learn something new. It's better to be up in the trees away from those spear-chucking Careers . . ."

"I guess that makes sense." she smirks, playing with her bangs sheepishly. "How about you teach me how to handle one of those weapons you've been fiddling around with, and _I_ help you learn how to dangle."

I scratch my chin in thought of the invisible proposal. Cveta doesn't seem like the type to stick around if I asked, while Marcia seems _genuine._ When was the last time someone showed genuine interest in me?

Mom is too busy getting high out of her mind, Emerson was just a mutual co-worker and my homeroom teacher Ms. Buick was decent while District 6 at large just goes about their daily lives, they could care less about others, there were enough issues to worry about.

Sure, there are other boys my age like District 8, 10 and 9 but it's best that two is enough. Judging by her reaping, she's as innocent as innocent gets. Victory is not a given if we get past the bloodbath, so why not kill time with someone who cares.

But what does she see in _me?_ As she could see by my episode with the nets, I'm neither strong or skilled. I have decent intelligence I guess? It _doesn't matter_ , she extended the branch and I will gladly take it.

I nod, certain this time. " . . . Well, okay Marcia, lead the way."

She smiles brightly, clutching my hand as she yanks me towards the spears.

"Allllright, let's go!"

* * *

 _ **"The Malajusted."**_

 _ **Occo Barst, 15, District 5**_

* * *

I never had much friends growing up.

That person who you would go to the drive-in with, that rock you could depend on and cater to every need? That was never me.

People seem to always look down on me, I could never say that I was a participator in life . . . more like a object of observation. They always question, always pester, always up in your space.

My parents and family were the exact same thing. Being the so called "runt" of the litter, I was either the object of ridicule . . . or the invisible son and brother.

But Valentina on the other hand, Valentina was cool. Snow knows I've tried to make a friend like her, but they never stuck around.

 _She did._

"Hey Occo," she says, tossing me her end of the wire. "Connect those two ends together will ya?"

I nod, using my nimble hands to quickly tie her wires into mine, creating a nifty "electric" snare of sorts. If my years of re-calibrating wires have taught me anything, this snare should deliver a _shocking_ surprise to the unlucky persons caught in its radius.

"Connect the yellow wire here . . . twist the . . . red one into the blue one to conduct a current." I mutter, tying the wires to a nearby metal pole. Of course, all this is done with rubber gloves.

"In those wires alone, there's at least one hundred amps of electricity!" says Valentina.

I adjust my glasses. "Well . . . let's see the results."

Valentina nods giddily as she ties the wire to the foot of a dummy. Slipping on our safety glasses, we quickly stride backward towards the main lever. As the instructor gives us a thumbs up, I slam the switch downward.

We watch in disbelief as the wire straightens as electricity jolts through each wire. The leg where we connected the snare explodes with a fiery and audible *pop* as beads fly in every direction. Valentina lets out a giddy cheer as I chuckle lightly at the display. A couple of eyes dart our way, but luckily none linger enough to raise suspicion.

Its better that they peg us as outcasts who have no chance of survival.

The instructor seems pretty impressed as well. "Very good tributes, I suggest you build up on your current formula."

I nod. "With the possibility of the target carrying steel from their weapons . . ."

"Maybe we could create a conduit of sorts!" finishes Valentina. I smile at her, _she's everything I've wanted in a friend._

The instructor allows us to return to the test site after the Avoxes clean up the mess. We quickly assemble another dummy and wires for another test run. Just as we finish linking the snare to the dummy, a girl strides into my view.

She has features akin to a porcelain doll, a damaged one at that. Her pink scars conflict with the paleness of her skin. Her persona seems assertive, as she lazily leans on the dummy we just assembled.

"Hey you," she begins, "This is a nice little trap you guys have going here . . ."

I smile meekly, avoiding her leer. "It's nice so far, I guess."

"We still have more parameters to work out." adds Valentina.

She gives a grunt of fascination, as her eyes dart from me to Valentina, then back to me, then back to Valentina.

"That sounds nice." she trills. "However, it'd take a while for you two to set this up, no? A Career could be on you in a millisecond without someone having your back. Maybe I could ally up with you guys?"

Valentina folds her arms. "Um . . ."

I raise a finger. "Maybe its for the best tha-"

"That I ally with you guys to prevent any big bad Careers from hacking you to death!" she quickly interjects, slinking a arm around my shoulder. "Great choice . . . _what's your name?"_

"Um . . .Occo."

" _Great_ choice Occo, I'm glad we all could come to a conclusion!" she tugs Valentina over into a hastily assembled group hug. "The three of us, you two and your trap smarts, and me with my lookout stuff, it'll be great!"

 _Ummm . . . yeah, sure? If she says so, I guess._

* * *

 ** _"The Stagy."_**

 ** _Nicolao Lucritus, 14, Snow Island_**

* * *

I can't believe I'm actually doing this . . . I volunteered based on a _pipe dream_ and I'm finally here!

Putting on a show for the media when it came to the reapings and the opening ceremonies went off without a hitch. According to Melanie, we're among many of names Hunger Games fanatics are droning about.

Unfortunately, as we go further down the line, things are quickly becoming much more difficult than I had anticipated.

First, Aliyah in all her snappishness is ruining the otherwise, perfect dynamic the rest of the Career pack seems to have with her abrasive demeanor. Otherwise, the group is fairly chilled in terms of temperament. Rafaela, being the hardheaded firecracker that she is, doesn't take kindly to Aliyah's authoritative behavior, causing even more friction.

Lastly . . . I haven't thought much about the combat portion. Every major decision I make is on impulse. _Infiero . . ._ I'm surprised I was even allowed into the pack! Rafaela at least _has_ experience before she quit training just before she was pinched for trafficking.

You know it's funny. . . I didn't even choose a weapon of choice yet. Rafaela was kind of iffy on her weapon too, before Luana suggested a quarter staff. As for myself, I'm too busy here watching Merlyn and Aliyah fire off rounds at the gun range. In tandem, the two masonry District tributes switch from left to right, dissipating pixel silhouettes with ease.

Aliyah sets the machine gun back on the rack as she flexes her fingers. "Ah the M60 machine gun. Firing off a couple rounds really gets the blood flowin'"

Merlyn, her hyper quiet-and-observant District partner seems to agree. "You said it Aliyah."

I gawk at the two older Careers. "They train you to fire _rifles_ too?"

Aliyah gazes at me with an incredulous look on her face, as if I said the most stupid thing one could hear. " _Duh,_ where else does Panem get most of its Peacekeepers from? If you don't make the cut, you have the choice to head straight into a couple more weeks of bootcamp before they ship you out."

"Or if you get off on people saluting you and calling you _"sir"_ " chimes Meryln, "They'll give you a year or two at the academy to earn a officers commission."

I nod my head, murmuring in understanding. _Come to think of it, the upper Districts are hyper privileged compared to the lower ones. No wonder they always decimate their competition year after year._

Unfortunately, Aliyah reads my question and reaction with suspicion. "What's your academy like? You guys always seem to churn out pipsqueaks."

"Yeah, and what weapon to you train with mostly? I'm genuinely curious." adds Meryln.

All I know is that our training academy is on a naval port on Havana's coast . . . _Just make up something!_

"Psh," I wave my arm dismissively. "My academy is alright. Isla Nieve is a island of young and vibrant people. I mostly train with swords myself.

 _Yeah, if training includes practicing the fight scene between Mercutio and Tybalt with Luis then sure! I mostly train with swords._

Aliyah struts over to the sword rack and plucks out a rapier, tossing my way. Luckily I catch it, groaning internally as I let out a startled yelp.

So this is what a sword feels like eh? It feels nothing like the stage swords I would use for my troupes. I swing it back and forth, slightly astonished at the way it cuts through the air. _Imagine how it would cut through an arm, a neck even?_

"Hey Mr. Instructor!" Aliyah waves the man over, pointing towards me. "My _friend_ here would like to spar with you!"

The instructor nods sternly, attaching to his sword and my own a protective rubber film. _We wouldn't want anybody getting killed . . ._

After putting on protective gear, we both enter the ring as Aliyah, Vincent and Meryln watch eagerly as some others watch on with interest as well. My legs wobble like boiled pasta and my palms feel sweaty, but for my own sake I don't let it show. I nod my ready as he does the same, both of us circling each other as we await one another to make the first move.

He decides to initiate our spar.

He goes in for a thrust, which I parry on instinct. The instructors attacks are heavy and unwavering, as my nerves continue to melt and I eyes continue to flicker backward, his on the other hand are trained directly on me. _Upward slash, sidestep, downward slash, parry._

As he continues to back me into a corner, I can't help but picture Aliyah banishing me from the pack, to my utter embarrassment. Then, my plan of a better life will be all for nothing.

But then I remember my spars with Luis. _Keep your stance wide, and your posture unwavering. Hit quick and fast._

With my left hand behind my back and stance wide, I continue to deflect his slashes and thrusts as our movements become more chaotic and rapid by the second. He's taken aback from my hardened defence, becoming stunned after I parry his downward slash.

As he stumbles backward, I rush forward as he readies for a slash to my side. I sidestep and with a flick of the wrist, my sword connects with his forearm as his sword flies to the other end of the mat.

"Bravo, tribute!" the instructor applauds as a few others do the same. I say my thanks as my eyes dart towards Aliyah, who nods in approval as she nudges Merlyn and whispers into his ear.

I smile. My spot in the pack has been asserted. Maybe my years of acting were actually worth something _tangible._ Rinse, wash and repeat.

* * *

 _ **"The Diligent."**_

 _ **Luana Evison, 18, District 1**_

* * *

As the Snow Islander does a little fencing, I've decided to do a little sparring myself.

"Luana's the best spear wielder in our graduating year, you got nothing on her!" says Vincent as he, Skylar and Rafaela each settle down onto a chair.

Skylar seems to agree as well. "I've never seen someone throw spears as quick as she does. Not even at my own academy."

I smile, waving bashfully towards them. "Competence might be key, but I also believe a little diligence wouldn't hurt. _You too_ can Luana if you put your best foot forward and operate with a clear head!"

The instructor waves us off dismissively, brandishing a baton. "We'll see about that, tribute."

Giving my spear a twirl in my hands, the instructor and I decide to shake up our little engagement with a miniature pond like venue, With stone pedestals to maneuver on and a shallow pool of water with lilies and the like to freshen up the environment just a tad.

Safe in his padded armor and a black baton to ward off my attacks, he nods his assent as I do the same.

And so we begin.

I leap to his pedestal, thrusting as he blocks my attack and leaps backward towards the main cluster of stones. I follow after him and he retaliates with a downward slash. Catching his attack mid strike, I maneuver his sword downward as I prepare a stride toward his temple. He ducks just in time, twirling his sword as I begin to move closer. He blocks my swipe towards his midsection, only for me to utilize the blunt end of my spear to prod him in the stomach. He tumbles as I prepare to plunge my spear downward.

My spear meets rock as he rolls out of the way and onto the next pillar.

A coy smile plays on my lips as I move onto the next pillar, bracing my spear upward as he slashes downward, effectively blocking his attack. Spear meets baton continuously as the sounds of our weapons colliding and our labored grunts flood the gymnasium. My spear meets rock again as I duck his blow. He leaps to the highest pillar. As we reach the highest pillar I give a wide berth as he swings for my left rib. I swing for his midsection, stunning him as I scuff the black of his armor, turning it grey. Taking advantage, using the flat end of my spear, I strike him in the temple, sending him tumbling into the bed of water below.

"Not bad, tribute." he chuckles, taking off his helmet to reveal slicked blond hair and blue eyes staple of many District 1 denizens.

"Thank you, you're not too bad yourself." I smile, pulling him out of the water. "I take it you're from District 1, you studied at LaGuardia right?"

"Yep, class of 2155, went straight into Peacekeeping." he nods. "I remember you, always hanging around with my cousin and Sebastian and the like. " he points to my wrist. "I see you have her pink ribbon bow she always wears."

I raise my eyebrows, playing with the token. "You're cousins with Shirah!?"

He nods. "Yep!". The more I look at him, the more I remember the face at barbecues, birthdays and other outings with Shirah's family. A bell rings as the other tributes alongside me look upward in confusion.

"That means lunchtime." he takes my spear as she shoos me and my allies away. "Good luck Luana, you'll need it!"

* * *

We stride towards the cafeteria, with me taking the lead of course. I notice that Vincent, the District 4's and the Snow Islanders seem much more at ease compared with Aliyah being around.

"I don't know about you guys, but I had a blast. I wasn't an active student back home, so getting back into the swing of things felt pretty good." says Rafaela.

"Too bad we'll be at each other's throats a week from now." adds Skylar.

"-Until then," Aliyah interrupts, brushing her way through Rafaela and Vincent, through me until she reaches the head of our little group. "We have a number of tributes' _throats_ to be at!" she lets out a cackle. "Great job out there guys, you're _really_ giving them something to fear."

She walks on, leading the pack with a swagger in her step, Merlyn following along like the loyal dog that he is . . . if only she could see the beams Rafaela sears into the back of her head.

All in all, the Training Centre is just like LaGuardia with the expensive training gymnasiums, mezzanines and a plethora of weapons- excluding the firearms. The only thing this place is missing is a track and field alongside hundreds of classrooms and annoying teachers to staff them. It makes me wonder why the Capitol allows us to have it so good.

The cafeteria is nifty, with black and white floors and colorful seats. There's a jukebox in the corner, which Vincent quickly yells dibs as he rushes to the nearest seats. Each food section had its name fitted into colourful diamonds and squares.

We all split up and get our food and meet back at the table. Vincent selects a number from _"The Barberettes"_ as we settle in. Some alliances are being formed, like District 5 with the scarred girl from 6 and lower District boys.

"So, my fellow pack members!" begins Aliyah as she bites into a sandwich. "I don't think we've had a formal talk about our _'operating style.'_ "

Everyone excluding Merlyn who remains passive, all exchange weary glances at one another.

Skylar raises an eyebrow. "Define _'operating style'_ for me?"

"Well . . ." chimes Aliyah, "Every great pack deserves a leader, and I, _Aliyah Marini_ , nominate _myself_ as leader."

The incredulous stares intensify. Rafaela however, seems to find fault with this.

"Personally, I think Luana is a good leader." she pipes up, ignoring the glare of Aliyah as she sips her Pepa-cola.

I'm somewhat taken aback, somewhat not, as I expected this. "Why do you say that Rafaela?"

"You're a team player and you have a positive vibe about yourself. Even though this is the Hunger Games, a little teamwork in a Career pack goes a long way."

I smile at her kind words, but Aliyah of course, doesn't seem to think so.

"Yes yes, District 1 is known for their bubbly and chivalrous attitudes. Does that _really_ make her capable of leading compared to the traits of a Two?" she tuts.

"Excuse me, if having a sense of community and teamwork, preventing us from splintering on day one, isn't considered "capable" in your eyes." I interject, managing to vent my sensitivity in a _defensive_ way not an offensive way.

Who is she to think I'm not capable!? I've trained all my life for this very moment.

Aliyah shrugs. "My vote still stands. What say you Meryln?"

And of course . . . "I'm with you Aliyah, I believe you have the traits to be a more than capable leader."

Rafaela doesn't budge. "Its either Luana or a laizzez-faire system for me."

"I-I um," Nicolao keeps his mouth shut, his eyes downcast as he gazes at his food. Vincent and the District 4's keep their mouths shut.

Before anything can fire off, splintering the group, I lay a gentle hand on Rafaela's shoulder. Maybe, just maybe, Aliyah is also a person who believes in the principles of community, maybe she's just looking out for us the only way she knows how.

. . . or maybe I'm just bullshitting myself. I'm going to go with that. For Rafaela's sake and myself, I'll entrust Aliyah with the leadership. I'm not dumb, we need a full pack or else the outliers can pull a fast one over us.

"I'll allow you to be leader. I don't see why not."

Aliyah grins. "There ya go! See Snow Island? One here knows a thing or two about hierarchy." she takes a sip of her water.

I squeeze the younger girls hand, sighing internally as she holds her tongue.

She's just looking out for us in her own way . . . nothing more, nothing less. We'll rise up from our plates, storm off and dominate like we do every year. Then, we'll give them a show they've never seen before. That's how it always goes.

And that's how it'll go _now_.

* * *

 _ **"The Arrogant."**_

 _ **Evara Winslett, 15, District 3**_

* * *

"If you ask me, I think you guys should split up."

. . .

All at once, their eyes dart towards me as I nonchalantly sip from my milkshake. Having had enough of their uneasy gazes, I raise my hands up in the air with a shrug.

" _What?_ It'll make it easier for a tribute like me to win." licking my lips, my index finger darts toward my milkshake. Their eyes follow.

" _Bubblegum flavored_. Have you tried their milkshakes?" I scoff a little, showing off the teal liquid. " _Ugh_ , man, they're better than the malt shops I have back home! They're probably better than yours too."

I continue to drink as their gazes intensify. "Um . . . How long have you been sitting with us?" asks Kite.

Gee whiz, these guys aren't really attentive. "Since Luana fought with the instructor up until now. No one really said anything so I decided to stick around just a little longer."

Aliyah raises an eyebrow. "You're unlike many District 3 eggheads _I've_ seen."

"I'm _not_ like any of those eggheads."

They don't miss a heartbeat. "Leave." they deadpan in unison, and I do so, raising my hands in faux defeat as the bell rings.

* * *

 _A young and graceful dark skinned woman, known to a select few as Artemis Clarke, sprints towards a bunker._

 _She is clad in a armored corset and bikini, thigh high boots and accessorized with golden gauntlets, tiara and choker necklace with the Panemian emblem serving as the pendant for both. Her outfit overall is painted in the gold and crimson of Panem's colours. Her jet black hair resembles that of a overgrown bush, bouncing up and down as her speed increases past that of human feats._

 _She bursts into the lair of the The Marauder of District 13, causing a plume of smoke to envelop the room as the armored door is blown clear off its hinge. Henchmen clad in black ready their rifles as the smoke begins to clear. Two of them charge towards the heroine, their bayonets prepared to strike as they close in._

 _The woman grabs the rifle from the first one, slamming the rifle into his skull with a sickening crack as the rifle becomes bent out of shape. The second henchman stabs and thrusts as the woman takes it in stride, bobbing and weaving as the man tires himself out. With a crimson boot, she sweeps the astonished man off his feet, grabbing his rifle mid-air as she impales him._

 _The other lackeys waste no time opening fire with their own weapons. With a smirk on her ruby lips, she leaps into the air, from her golden gauntlets appear two red shields made of plasma. Her movements become a flurry of shadows as she deflects the volley of bursts. The men, now becoming visibly scared as they prepare to reload, are caught off guard as the woman lets loose with her twin revolvers, "Justice" and "Vindication". All of them are quickly felled as the young lady gives a twirl of her handguns and shoves them into her holsters._

 _Just as she takes a step, a force-field boxes her in place. A man wearing a distinguished military uniform strides out from the shadows, clapping in a slow, condescending rhythm._

 _"Well well well . . . look what we have here. Captain Panem, I'm glad you could join us!" he lets out a cackle as more henchmen pour into the room, their rifles trained on the supersoldier of justice._

 _Artemis remains steadfast. "You know me Marauder, when Panem is threatened I will always answer her call!"_

 _"Tsk tsk. Ah Captain, always so ignorant and stuck in your way. Soon there won't be a Panem as you know it!" he slinks to a control panel, slamming a big red button as a countdown appears on screen._

 _"As soon as those fifteen minutes are up, your precious Capitol will be blown to smithereens and District 13 shall reign supreme!"_

 _Artemis gasps in shock. "You fool, without the Capitol as our nation's beating heart, our continent will fall into a cesspool of conflict and despair!"_

 _The Marauder seems to care little, guffawing like a maniac as Captain Panem continues to launch herself into the forcefield, while the clock continues to count away . . ._

* * *

 ** _"_** **Panem appears to be on her death knell as The Marauder and his lackeys seem to have our heroine licked!"** cries the announcer, **_"Will Captain Panem break through the forcefield to save our nation from nuclear catastrophe!? Stay tuned for the next episode of . . . Captain Panem! The Rise of The 13 Marauderrrrr!"_**

Herrick clicks off the television.

By the odds of things, Herrick and I won't be able to _stay tuned_ for anything! Twenty three others won't be able to either due to the selfishness of a couple million _fatcats._

" _Fuck_ man, _fuck_!" he curses, ruffling his hair in annoyance. He tosses the remote and I wince as it clatters and skids across the floor to the opposite end of the room.

He raises his arms in confusion and anger. "How do people go through their daily lives and not feel any remorse or anger for this shit?!"

I raise my head up from my pillow. "They did twenty years ago, and they got their asses handed to them."

But still, he had a point. I can't help but feel his pain.

You think after ninety-five years of the same garbage over and over and over and over again, they would be satisfied by now?

Like my allies Mentan and James, no more hunkering down in front of the television for another episode of Captain Panem with my friends. No more trips to the diner with Mom and Dad or Denny and Vella, no more.

And it's just so _friggin_ unfair . . .

"Ah, there they are!" trills Doris as she and our mentors enter the penthouse.

"Where else would they be dollface?" quips Tertius as our escort lets out an annoyed sigh. Gwendolyn makes a beeline for me, taking me into her room.

"S-s-s-s-so, how w-w-was it?" she asks, closing the door behind her.

"It was good. I ended up allying with the boys from nine and eight." I reply, noticing how she's rolling her wrists for more info. "And um, I eavesdropped on the Careers. It was as if I were apart of their pack the whole time. It took them until lunch to finally realize."

I let out a laugh, but it softens as Gwen doesn't seem to find it funny. She stares at me as if I've fallen twenty floors off a building and got up like it was nothing.

"W-why, you're just making a bigger target out of yourself!"

" _Please,_ I was pretty calm about it. It was almost as if I were untouchable. All you need is a little confidence, it goes a long way."

"T-t-t-too much confidence can erode your self-preservation."

I shrug, believing she's wrong. I think my confidence is an extraordinary gift. We've had enough stereotypes from three already. With more flashy personalities, District 3 remains on the map while still having a credible chance.

"We could use a new angle, no?"

"It's not the angle I would go for." she says, spinning on her pivot chair. "Sometimes it's better to fade into the background."

I shake my head. We've been in the background for too long. "I can win. I can win with my deceit and my tenacity. I can blow all these other kids out of the water to make it back home. I can, and I will."

"W-well until then, try to keep the arrogance down until after the gong goes off," she opens her room door, ushering me through. "You still need skills and you can't do that if an older tribute decides to cream you early."

* * *

 _ **Prior to the Second Rebellion, arenas were only patrolled by a single hoverplane and it's crew. They are now akin to that of a military station, with multiple hovercrafts and Peacekeepers patrolling the surrounding areas.**_

 _ **Hunger Games junkies could get their fix by taking part in reenactments or even tours of the arena of choice. Who knows, maybe they might meet the Victor of said arena if they're still around. Even after the trumpet sounds, the Hunger Games continue to be a multi-million dollar industry.**_

* * *

 ** _8.3k, not bad not too bad. Trying to slim down a little._**

Thank you for reading.


	14. Training Pt Two

_**Haus Der Toten; 95th Hunger Games**_  
 _ **Training Part Two!**_

* * *

 _ **Schooling in Panem is quite the system in itself. There happens to be a thirteen year grade system. From JK all the way to 19 years of age. Some schools offer kindergarten to Grade 8, while others are a junior high system drafting Grade 6 all the way up until Grade 13. Unless your parents' wallet or an aptitude test tells you other wise, you're assigned to the school in your area. Math, Civic Participation, Geography, History, Science, all your typical subjects are taught with extracurricular activities being an extreme privilege. Civic, English and History are deemed extremely important for obvious reasons.**_

 _ **A single school can hold thousands of students from within their region. Dormitories are common. A school can vary from a single floor, to a multi-floor location with various wings and specialized learning subjects.**_

 _ **However, due to the exaggerated wealth gap and the "Sink or Swim" situations many families face, its not arcane for people to drop out and just work or raise a family.**_

* * *

 _ **"The Ambitious."**_

 _ **Skylar Barassi, 17, District 4**_

* * *

" _So_ , Skylar! Skylar, Skylar, _Skylarrrrr._ " Marissa, my mentor and biggest idol since childhood, chimes as she plops down beside me. She picks away at cherries drenched in sweet syrup, offering me a few as I gladly accept the tasty treats.

"Now that were approaching the halfway point, how are you feeling?"

I shrug. "Now that I'm here after volunteering and all, the feeling still nags at me. Y'know that _"hey, you're about to enter the games"_ feeling?"

Marissa nods in agreement. "I think everyone who ends up implicated in the games has that feeling."

"Yeah, right . . ." I say halfheartedly, my eyes trained on Hermes Lancaster from CTV as he drones on about Victor fashion trends. "Have you spoken to my family since I've left?"

Marissa frowns just a tad. She begins to talk about Mom and Dad, and how the guilt of our undeveloped relationship finally began to sink in as soon as I had volunteered. I didn't even have a mind to tell them about my decision. I doubted their care for all topics relating to myself. Surprisingly, Marissa goes on to say that Milani is a frayed bundle of nerves, upset at my volunteering over her and my leaving in general.

Though I doubt it was the latter, so I'll go with the former.

"She's sixteen." began Marissa with a dismissive wave of the hand. "We'll train her just as hard next time."

I shake my head, massaging my temples in an attempt to dull my anger. "I just find it annoying how all of a sudden I'm of interest to them. Why couldn't they see me as their daughter and cousin beforehand?"

Marissa crosses a leg over her knee. "Sometimes, people don't know what they have until its gone. It's a staple among tributes' families from time to time.".

She lays a hand over my shoulder. "Consider what happened between you and them to be in the past. We need to focus on what's ahead now. Try to think of yourself as not one of Milani's posse girls, but a _tribute."_ she shakes her head. "Not just any old tribute, a _Career Tribute_."

I frown. "It's been easy projecting, being District 4 and all, but the damage has already been done. Years of being considered nothing but a loser to my parents, and a punching bag for Milani. I realize that now, I _barely_ have an identity of my own."

Marissa returns my frown. "I'm pretty sure Marceline and the millions of eyes watching will be yearning to hear your motives." she gets up, removing two tridents from behind the couch as she tosses one my way.

"Use your experiences back home to better yourself not only for the Capitols watching and the folks back home, but _also_ because you'll be a better warrior when you hone in your feelings.

I _Mmm_ in slight agreement. "That sounds like solid advice to me."

"Good, because I wouldn't be here if I didn't follow it." she smirks, moving the coffee table to make way for herself and I. "Now come, lemme teach you a little bit more techniques with District 4's most beloved item."

Grinning like an idiot, I heave the steel weapon as I get into position beside her. She performs a series of twirls, slashes and thrusts. Unbeknownst to her, Kite and our escort Vivienne, clad in robes and each clutching a mug, watch on with smirks on their faces at the display.

Kite giggles like a fool, as he sips the contents of his mug. "I'm enjoying the view. My favorite Victor decked out in spandex _and_ working a trident? Nice.". His words earn him a flick to the temple from Vivienne, to his grumbles.

"The trident and District 4 are like a match made in heaven." Marissa's adjusts my stance as she re-assumes her position. "Here's a fun fact from Marissa Lynne for you, no Victor from our district has won without the _trident_ as their primary weapon. You have a good grasp so far, but you could use some work. Give me a thrust . . . Mhm, perfect! Give me a jab with the flat end? Nice!

* * *

Marissa's lessons translate well into the gymnasium.

The dummy explodes into pixelated cubes as I prod my trident into its chest. The second one is even easier to dispatch as I duck under its mace, sweep its legs from under it and finish it off with my trident into its back.

The glass door to the simulation room opens as Kite strides in. "That's some nifty trident work Skylar."

My cheeks burn with pride at her compliment. "Thanks Kite, you really think so?" I say, frowning slightly at the yearn for validation that emits from my voice. _C'mon Skylar, play the part!_

He quirks an eyebrow. "Yeah I guess . . . then again, you shouldn't really care what I think. As long as you do it your way, and you're content, you're good."

My grin quickly changes into a scowl as I roll my eyes. "You're right. Maybe I _shouldn't_ care what others think."

"Umm . . . okay then?" He scowls at the tone of my voice as I do inwardly. We continue to swing our maces and tridents around while the gym begins to grow busier by the minute. As Kite dismantles a plastic dummy with a heave of his mace, the rest of our pack comes striding towards us. Aliyah and her cocky swagger, Merlyn and his passive look about him . . . Vincent greets Kite as Luana and Nicolao seem stressed.

Aliyah regards my mangled dummy and gives thumbs up. "Nice work, Skylar. I'd like to see someone _tri-dent_ pull this off!" she guffaws, to the eyerolls of everyone else as I return the compliment with a bright smile. With her confidence and demeanour, she reminds me of Milani to a tee. Like Milani, she was _someone to look up to, to seek validation from._

 _Like_ Milani however, there always was a front for the boisterous personality- which I easily sated by pleasing her ego. There's always a mask and a facade.

And like Milani's posse, there was a big possibility of conflict occurring in this pack with Aliyah at the helm. It already started to appear during lunch yesterday with Luana and Rafaela. Who know's if the rift will continue to grow . . . All I know is that I'll need to make preparations for when that time comes.

"That was pretty bad." chuckles Vincent as he swipes off the forearm of a dummy with his butterfly sword.

Aliyah folds her arms with a self-satisfied smirk. "As long as I get a rise out of people, I don't mind."

As Vincent invites Kite to watch him fool around with the sword rack, I peer over Aliyah's shoulder, towards Nicolao. "Hey um . . . where's Rafaela?"

The very mention of her name prompts Nic to frown as he jabs a thumb backwards. We look past his shoulder to see Rafaela chatting it up with an instructor as they begin to spar with quarterstaffs. She glances our way, scowls, then quickly resumes her activity.

" . . . Rafaela decided to break apart from the pack and pursuit her own path." he mutters, defeated.

Luana sighs, an agitated look on her usually pleasant features as Meryln seems forever amused. Aliyah on the other hand exclaims her surprise as she glares beams at the Snow Island female.

If I were to base Milani's reaction and mannerisms with Aliyah's. . .I'd better start preparing for the inevitable now.

* * *

 _ **"The Stout."**_

 _ **Aliyah Marini, 18, District 2**_

* * *

I glare at the scrawny spic as he recoils instantly. "The _fuck_ do you mean she left!?"

Hapazardly, Nicolao shrugs as his face scrounges up into a frown. "I dunno!? _Dios mio,_ she doesn't like your style I guess . . ."

I snort, folding my arms as I scan the gym for our defector in question, I had lost her. After passing over the District 12 pair who shoot crossbows and the District 8 male shooting handguns with the 9 boy and the cocky 3 girl, I find her - practicing her clambering skills while occasionally chatting with the District 6 boy and his partner.

"Are you serious right now!? _Gah_ , leave it to a Two to try and keep things together!"

A smug smile plays on the lips of Luana, who mutters something in a sing-songy fashion. I pay her no mind as I stomp over towards the climbing station, caring less about the eyes that seem to follow my move as I come to a stop in front of a nonchalant Rafaela.

Rafaela casts a glance upward, grins and then looks downward towards her feet as she laces up her boots. "Ah, hello _Aliyah,_ how are you today?"

Scowling, my eyes dart towards the slant boy from 6 and the Elevener. "Beat it brats." I snarl.

The two twerps heed my words, scampering up the nearest tree and into the foliage as Rafaela perches one leg over her knees and bats her I had no sense I'd punch her teeth in, fix that shit eating grin she has on her face.

"What type of stunt are you trying to pull here? What, you think this is some type of joke to you?" I seethe, clenching my fist as the girl fails to keep her snorts in.

"Who said anything about joking?"

I roll my eyes. "Why'd you leave, Snow Island?"

She rolls her eyes. "Ain't it obvious? You're clearly pulling an angle."

I tense. "Excuse me?"

She shakes her head the way a parent would towards a naive child. "Come on Aliyah, your puns, the authoritative attitude mixed in with your cockiness. It's all a facade."

I laugh off her half-baked accusation. Well . . . maybe not as half-baked as I would want them to be. Life is all about facades. In Panem, you sink or swim. If you want to stay afloat, you be whatever you cam, you please whoever you want to please. In the Hunger Games, facades are what get you flashy cars, a mansion, idiotic Capitols following your every move and a crown on your head.

Community and mutual respect are what make you a hologram in the mausoleums back in District 2.

Back at Corbulo Academy, my personality was already set, my insecurities weighing me down always. Here in the Capitol, however, I don't need to put on jack shit. My personality is undetermined, my weaknesses . . . just as undetermined.

I don't owe any of these people _, anything._ The only one who saves me, _is me._

I take a berth into her space. She returns my action with the same gesture. Hazel eyes meet grey as a nearby Peacekeeper contemplates intervening. I hold my hand up in a passive gesture, prompting him to nod as he returns to parade rest.

"What do you know about me?" I spit.

"Enough to jump ship!" she shrugs. "Besides, I think I'll be just fine on my own."

I smile, stepping out of her bubble. If she wants to die an early death, I won't stop her. Who knows, maybe it'll be by my hands . . .

"Okay Rafaela, have it your way. I wish you luck during the games."

Rafaela climbs into the foliage. "Yep, see ya!" she chirps, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she doesn't turn back towards me once.

I need a weapon to relieve stress before I _wring_ her neck here and now.

I stride over towards the throwing knives, earning an eye roll from Landry Danton, the 7 female, as I flick knife after knife into a cubed pixel dummy, relishing in their implosions. Merlyn casually watches as I launch my knives, I give him an approving nod as I grunt away. I imagine each knife sinking into the skull of that bitch Rafaela, or that idiot boy from District 7.

Let them run their mouths. Talk will mean nothing once the gong goes off.

The remainder of our five-man pack wanders over. Nicolao steps forward, looking skittish as ever as he fidgets with the buttons of his tennis shirt.

"H-hey, so um . . . What's the plan now Aliyah?"

I let out a huff, growling as I take a knife and send it sailing into the District 9 girl's dummy - to her utter shock.

" _KEEP WORKING_ , we still have outer district scum to deal with and I'll be damned if any one of them gets a drop on me!" I shoo them away, ignoring Skylar's frown and Luana's scoff as they move off to another station. Merlyn and I exchange a glance. I scowl at him as a smirk appears on his lips alongside a playful shrug.

Just keep doing you Aliyah . . .

* * *

 ** _"The Rebel."_**

 ** _James Pullo, 15, District 8_**

* * *

I guffaw, jabbing a thumb towards the knives station. "Get a load of that display . . ."

Evara stifles a laugh as even Mentan allows a smile on his usually worrisome features. We watch as Aliyah from District 2 continues to chuck knives into pixelated targets. The District 1 male and female with the Snow Island male talk among themselves, on occasion casting an eye back to their angered pack leader.

"It looks like they've hit a snag of sorts." says Evara as she slides me another magazine.

I nod my thanks, loading it into the Luger. "Good for us, danger for them."

Mentan tenses for a split second as he ponders to himself for a moment. "How so, it is just _one_ member leaving after all?"

I ruffle his hair. "C'mon Mentan, the more they fragment, the better for us."

He continues to ponder, tapping his chin before shrugging. "Explain to me the positives? She is in our age group after all, barely a loss to their pack in general."

Evara groans, massaging her temples as her hands switch to pawing her cheeks. "Okay _debbie downer_ , even if she's only fifteen or sixteen, her departure from their group could cause more friction down the road. Remember what I said to you yesterday about their giant argument about who was going to lead . . .? _Clearly_ some of them have reservations which _meansss_ . . . -"

Evara jabs her finger my way. "- Which means if they don't get a clamp down on their grievances, it could translate into them disbanding sooner rather than later!" I finish.

I send a playful frown Mentan's way as he gives us a single nod in return. "Ah, that makes me feel slightly better."

"That should make you feel much much better!" I chide as I fit headphones onto my ears. "Mentan Mentan Mentan, ye have little faith."

"There's not much faith to be had in a Hunger Game." he deadpans. _Thinking like that is what gets you killed, buddy . . ._

Evara laid a hand on his shoulder. "True, but you have _us_ , which makes the process a _whooole_ lot easier."

He relents, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

I allow a slight smile myself, reveling in our camaraderie. Since being reaped, I think its safe to say the transition has been good. It's easy to say being in a new environment does wonders compared to staying in District 8- where the Pullo name is tied into drunks and misfits. Even though I had no ill nature unlike Pop and Vern, just being associated with the likes of them is enough to earn scorn from the District as a whole.

I play with the wooden knight my mother had helped me carve and gave to Pop as a present. At least the old man was _sober_ enough to send his youngest off to a certain death. I assume Vern forgot . . . He's probably in the arms of another prostitute or causing a ruckus around town.

In the end, coming from a District filled with dull faces, at least I'm somewhere fresh. I could be different, a mini-celebrity if only for a few days. Evara and Mentan have played a large roll in my ease regarding this whole situation, without them I'm not quite sure where I'd be mentally or emotionally.

We shoot guns for a couple minutes, which I conclude that I am quite proficient with a handgun. Not getting our hopes up with the possibility of guns in the arena, we try our hand with the traditional sword. Evara and I have trouble with the weight of the traditional swords, so we try our hand with shortened ones, which feel much better. Mentan opts for a simple push dagger.

The District 1 boy has to add in his two cents of course. Vincent his name was. Well Vincent and the pair from District 4 in all their cockiness, settle at the sword rack and slug away at dummies. Of course, this intimidates Adele and Joelle, causing them to flee to the snares leaving us to share the station with them. Judging by their sneers and whispers among each other, I guess they were offended because we didn't kowtow to their attempts to scare us away.

"There's no point in choosing a weapon of choice guys!" he teases, his sword decapitating each gel dummy with ease. "You'll be dead as soon as the gong goes off."

Mentan puts down his dagger. ". . . Maybe we should leave."

I have none of it, clasping his wrist as he makes an about face. " _Yeah yeah yeah_ , can it District 1! I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you guys."

"Oh yeah?" says the District 4 male with a sneer. "Why is that?"

"As you may be aware, it's been five years since _any one_ of you has taken the crown."

Evara seems to follow my notion. "Yeah, don't get cocky you _meatheads._ Maybe this year will be a continuation of your losing streak!"

The District 4 female scoffs. "Yeah, you guys lucked out recently because the Head Gamemaker is _shit_ , and ankle biters like you somehow slip through because of it."

Vincent smirks at her words. "Since these guys seem a little bit cocky, maybe I'll test their skills out _first_ when everything kicks off . . ."

The three older teens laugh, although Evara and I don't plan on flinching away. We would've said more but Mentan pulls us away just as the lunch bell rings.

Of course, Mentan didn't appreciate the whole kerfuffle. His face is long as we take our seats at a booth. An Avox serves us a glass of water each as we say our thank you to the lady.

"You guys can't be so _reckless_!" he yearns, his eyes darting backward every couple seconds, as if someone were going to jump him.

He really needs to lighten up. "Oh _come on_ Mentan, they started it."

"So? Sometimes its better to just allow them to run their mouths. Then maybe, we won't be on their hit list."

"If we said nothing and just laid there, we would've been on their list anyway." says Evara coming to my aid like the loyal friend that she is. _Man, why couldn't she be from eight instead of three?_

Mentan doesn't agree. "You guys can't be so forthright, especially with Careers. We have one day left, just promise me you'll relax until were though?"

Ignoring Mentan, I turn in my booth to see them laughing and hollering in their usual obnoxious fashion. Vincent looks my way, a cocky glint in his eye as he alerts his other allies. They say something, along the lines of " _weakling_ " and " _so dead_ " as point in my direction and laugh all the while. Their jeers cause me to boil over with anger, but I know better than to go over there and slam a tray into Vincent's face, so I let the anger subside.

"Surrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre Mentan, I'll relax."

For _now_ of course.

* * *

 _ **"The Dispirited."**_

 _ **Cveta Moscone, 16, District 6**_

* * *

These guys are certified wackos, with a capital _everything._

They're like _babies_ almost, the way they fixate on their wiring and trapping with an almost compulsive interest makes me wonder why all District 3 and 5 tributes almost always seem to be quirky and scatterbrained. I've seen the playbacks. Tributes like the elusive Finch Emerson from '74 and Piper Malveaux from just a year or two ago. The Beetee Latier's and the Gwen Faraday's electrocuting and gassing their enemies.

I guess this year District 5 is living up to the stereotype.

This time, instead of one dummy armed with a sword, they connect four dummies. One dummy has a thick multicolored wire attached to its ankle. The instructor gives the thumbs up while Occo pulls the trigger, causing an electrical current to envelop the four dummies. The dummy connected to the wire explodes, severing a leg as the other four are blown off their stands. The instructor concludes that the main dummy would be dead instantly, while the other three would suffer crippling injuries.

"Hey hey, look at that we did it!" says Occo as Valentina hops around the room, clapping giddily as I hold back a guffaw.

"Yay, we did it, we did it! We made a conduit!" she beams, clutching my hand like a six year old. "Cveta we did it, aren't you _excited_?!"

I hold back the eye roll. "Woo hew, I'm _very_ excited for you." I deadpan.

She frowns, her lips puckered like a saddened puppy. "Well, you don't seem very excited."

"You're just a means to an end after all . . ."

"Huh?"

I wave her off with a playful hand. " _Oh it's nothing_ , nothing!"

After cleaning up their mess and returning their protective gear, Valentina suggests that we put in some weapons training to my protests and Occo's agreement. I'd rather them continue using those nifty minds of theirs to continue building upon that trap thing-a-ma-bob. Once the gong goes off, hopefully there are wires at the cornucopia or something. After we get their wires, we set up a place, get a couple of tributes fall for the trap then _zap_!

A free ride to the finals.

I try my hand with something Claudia calls an Atatl. Basically, you could call it a spear launcher by the looks of it. By Claudias observation, apparently I'm the only tribute under her tenure that could properly work the weapon. Although she says it wouldn't prove much use in a close fight. She relents when I counteract her argument by telling her I don't plan on getting close anyway.

Anyway, I join my weird allies at the melee weapons station. Valentina opts to stick to the snares and her trapping, while Occo looks over the selections with a careful eye.

"So Occo, Valentina!" I chime, watching as the boy brandishes a blunt club of sorts. Gee, a simple weapon for such a _simple being._ "What's life in District 5 like for you guys? Your wiring skills are something else."

"Life is good!" says Valentina, "Just school, wandering the District, doing experiments with my brother Adriannnn..."

I raise an eyebrow. ". . . Did you say experiments?"

"Yeah, experiments! He says he enjoys my "simple-mindedness" . . . whatever that means. He says he finds it amusing."

"Erm . . ." I squint my eyes, allowing myself a forced nod. _Cveta, what are you getting yourself into?_ "Riiiiiiight, that sounds _very nice_ Valentina!"

I turn to Occo now. His reaping gave me a teaser into what he probably has to put up with. His family must also be a hoot. "So, Occo, what about you, what are your Parents like? . . . Do you have girlfriend, etcetera?"

The mere mention of life back home seems to rub Occo the wrong way. As his pleasant demeanor melts and is replaced with a deep scowl. "It's kinda easy to focus on wiring because your parents want nothing to do with you..."

I'd imagine with mannerisms like his, his parents wouldn't be so keen in connecting with him. Then again, him and I aren't so bipolar, Mom and Dad sort of treat me the same way too, _again,_ it's not like I'm _"Daddy's little girl"_ either.

"Hmm, your Mom and old man give you trouble?" I inquire, sitting down on a nearby bench. "Elaborate bud, you just seem like an interesting guy is all!"

"There's not much to talk about I guess." he sighs deeply, his scowl now replaced with a angered frown. "Can you _please_ stop asking me private questions?"

I snort. "How old are you, five? ' _Private questions'_ , _eheheehehhee_ . . . How come you don't like ' _private questions_ '?"

I kinda regret asking. The poor kid begins breathing heavily, his skin turning a reddish pink as his shoulders heave upward and downward.

"Because . . ." he breathes, readying his club in trembling hands. "People. Can't. Just. Leave. ME. _ALONE!_ "

The Careers stop lugging their weapons and prattling like schoolgirls, the boys from 10, 11 and 3 back away in pure shock, Orville and his partner poke their head out from the foliage up above-

 _Pfft, Snow . . ._ the entire room looks at poor Occo with puzzled and nervous expressions.

Occo's skin returns to its pale hue, his body no longer ridgid as he glances around at the eyes that watch him. At his feet are five bloodied torsos, each in various stages of disfigurement. He notices his handiwork now, dropping the battered club as it splatters on the ground.

He tries cleaning up his mess, but it only get's worse as the fake blood continues to spill. "Oh boy . . .I'm- I'm _so so_ sorry. Mother always said breathe and count to ten. I guess I didn't listen huh?"

He gets no response, only gazes as he continues to backpedal towards the elevators. Within a blink of an eye, he's gone, darting off as Valentina chases after him.

All eyes turn to me as I shrug, a gleeful smile forming on my lips.

"Do yourselves a favor? Never ask someone " _private questions_.""

* * *

 _ **"The Hardened."**_

 _ **Rafaela Novia, 16, Snow Island**_

* * *

"That was a pretty weird display, eh?"

From the edge of my perfectly made hammock, I peer over to see the younger boy from District 10 regarding me with an inquisitive expression. The way his black irises bore into mine almost makes me feel like a bird in a cage.

"Yup, I guess so." I turn my body to face him, "District 5 never disappoints in the loco department."

He hums in agreement, leaning against the tree as we watch the others continue on with their regimens. We stay like this for five minutes or so, the air conditioning topped off with the shade from this miniature forest beats the dullness of fluorescent lights beaming down on me any day.

Five minutes turns to ten minutes tops, and when Ten's buddies peer at us from the bow and arrows for the eightieth time- I decide to initiate the real reason why he came to my neck of the woods.

"Alright Ten, spit it out, what do you want?"

His suave and easygoing demeanor doesn't break as he points toward himself in faux surprise and a slight squint in his eyes.

" _What_ , I can't wonder why a pretty girl like you is all alone without her allies?"

I roll my eyes at his attempt to woo me. "This " _pretty girl_ " can kill you in a dozen ways. Why are you talking to a Career, don't you know we're dangerous?"

He sends a casual shrug my way. "I don't think you'd harm me."

I scoff while batting my eyelashes as he playfully folds his arms. "Why's that Ten?"

He smirks, fingering the golden medallion hung around his neck. "I'd like to think I'm a boy that's good with his words . . ." he shoves my hammock as I let out a slight squeal, steadying the quilt as I shoot him a glare. I find his confidence appealing, but it does no favors for him here.

"Okay, seriously, why break apart from the pack?"

"Let's just say I've decided to fly solo. It's Better to be alone than someone's disposable pawn."

He nods in understanding. "Yeah, all Two's seem to have that militaristic edge to them." he waggles a finger as a smirk returns to his lips. "Unlike _Aliyah_ , we won't treat you like a drone."

He gestures to his partners, the bigger boys from District 3 and 11. "There's always room for one more y'know . . ." he chides in a sing-songy tone.

"All you have to say is _yes_."

I ponder the boy's proposal. His borderline cockiness, his ability to butter up just about anyone he sets his eyes on . . . Judging by his allies he managed to wrangle. They were easily swayed by his talk.

"No thanks Ten, I appreciate the offer." I say flatly, giving the boy a false pout as his smile is replaced with a thin line.

"Okay . . . If you say so. Good luck out there Rafaela. If it means anything to you, whatever happens, it ain't personal." and with a lazy wave, he's gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Some of those thoughts nag at me like a mother I barely had, scolding me for leaving the pack so early. Other thoughts tell me I got this, going solo is okay . . . it's not like there's anyone else to pair up with."

"Mr. Moranthyfis is right, she _is_ pretty."

Alarmed, I flip over to see Pax lazing in the hammock with me. All it takes is a wink to send me tumbling out onto the floor. That inquisitive, lighthearted tune that accompanies the infamous holographic children begins to play lightly as I stagger to my feet. I throw off the quilt from my head, and they're they are, Vi and Pax regarding me with their typical neutral expressions.

"Oh _great_ ," I grumble. "What do you guys wan-?"

"- Here we have it," says Vi.

"A girl _without_ a home," chimes Pax as he leans against a nearby tree.

"A wolf _without_ a pack." adds Vi.

"I don't blame her. _Anyone else_ with a little independent thought could see the risks of staying." Pax remarks as he glances towards the remaining Careers.

"At least you guys have sense . . ." I mutter as I rub my throbbing behind, still sore from being startled. "I ain't gonna grovel to any group for acceptance. So solo it is."

Vi shakes her head. "No need to grovel. From what I see- there's at least one other group that has you in their sights."

"A perfect match if you ask me . . ." says Pax.

"However," adds Vi, "With a group like this comes notoriety from a rather . . . unsavory source." A tap on the shoulder turns my direction away from the children, to my back.

It's Landry from District 7 with Tamir behind her. Both smile at me as if what happened during the chariots didn't happen. Then again, I only laughed to keep up the persona. Their beef is with Aliyah and the others.

"Hey Rafaela, what's up?" says Landry, lugging an axe over her shoulders.

I turn back towards Vi and Pax, only for them and their theme tune to vanish without a trace.

" . . . Heyy? Um, nothing much I guess." I smile, earning nods from Landry and Tamir.

Tamir steps forward. "We saw the whole thing with Aliyah and we thought why not ask if you wanted to team up?"

I frown slightly, remembering Vi's remark about getting negative attention. They notice my hesitance, and motion for me to join them up in the foliage, which I do.

"Think about it this way." says Landry as she waggles a loose foot. "Yeah, we might be a big target with this idiot over here not keeping his mouth shut." she playfully tugs at his ear as Tamir flicks her hand away, muttering something under his breath. "But at least we're a big target that can coordinate, instead of being singled out and offed, right?"

I shrug. She's right. I don't think I could face four Careers alone. Nicolao wouldn't hurt me, however.

"So whadd'ya say?" Tamir extends his hand towards me, and another towards Landry.

I nod. I remember the chariot prep, Landry's voice as she called the Six girl a slut and to calm down, the way she manhandled Tamir back to her chariot as she casually shot down Aliyah with a "drop dead." . . . I can roll with these guys. They seem on my level and vice versa, the loyal type that'll help you out when the going gets tough.

I doubt I'd be around when things head downhill, here's hoping they could keep up when Aliyah comes pounding over.

I smile. "You've got yourselves a deal."

With a three way handshake, we've sealed our fates as public enemy number one. What's wrong with a little risk?

* * *

 _ **"The Balanced."**_

 _ **Tybalt Moranthyfis, 16, District 10**_

* * *

The two younger tributes, the oriental boy from Six and Cian's partner, gawk at me from the fire they tend to. They probably must've overheard my conversation.

"May I help you guys?" I drawl sardonically, relishing in their frowns as they shake their heads meekly.

Scoffing with my hands in my pockets, I stride over to the ranged weapons, where Herrick watches Cian shoot a couple bows. He's pretty good, constantly hitting the upper torso with a handful of missed shots altogether.

They both turn to me and frown, noticing the lack of a Latina girl by my side.

"I take it she said no?" says Cian as he notches a bow and let's it fly.

I glance over towards the clambering section, catching one last glimpse of the Snow Islander as she clambers up the trunk of a tree with the pair from District 7. I can't help but shake my head at her stupidity. Clearly with that little fight they had with the Careers during the opening ceremonies, the pair from Seven would be targeted once the gong sounds.

Or maybe, she was smarter than I anticipated. She's only one of a handful of people who aren't so easy to break down.

"You guess right, but it doesn't matter." I wave him off, handing him another set of arrows.

Herrick nods. "Aliyah from Two will take care of her most likely. It's best not to get roped into their politics, unless we want to get implicated too."

"Mhm," I grunt, watching as the girl from Twelve works a crossbow as if she were a Career rather than an outlier like us.

"You really know how to work that bow, you wanna show me some tips and tricks?!" I call over to her.

She and her District partner turn my way, smirk, then turn back towards the pixels they shoot.

We move onto the swords and knives, luckily the Careers only subject us to hungry leers and hushed whispers as Herrick and I find ourselves at home with the blades. Working part time at a butchery does wonders when you're shipped off to participate in a deathmatch. Herrick on the other hand apparently gets extra tips from a Capitol mentor who happens to be a Second Rebellion vet.

He isn't a Career by any means, but he handles the weapon well for a District 3 tribute.

"So Herrick," he turns my way, his expression inquisitive. "I know Cian's a country boy like myself, so it's obvious he'd be built like an ox. You don't seem like any typical string bean from Three to me, what's your story?"

He smiles, waving me off playfully. "I'm not an egghead like most of the people from Three, I work - well - _worked_ at a factory, y'know, moving finished goods and stuff? I guess that's why I'm more of an uncommon case."

I nod once, a working guy. I guess Three and Ten aren't different after all. Upper echelons that run the companies while us normal guys work under their thumbs. I can respect his background. "Nice, that's nice, what about you Cian?"

"Nothing special," he shrugs. "I live outside of Birmingham, my parents work as harvesters . . . I go to school, help out around the home, have lots of family that love me and vice versa . . . all that stuff. Now, I'm stuck with you fine people!"

I flash a toothless smile. "Too bad we couldn't surpass five years or so eh?"

We laugh, sighing as we fall into a comfortable silence. I like it. No semantics or worrying about the inevitable, just me and two guys willing to get things done.

 _Then eventually, me getting things done._

It wasn't without reasons my choosing of Cian and Herrick. Both being well-rounded, humble people, my smooth words and amiable personality allowed me to swoop in and wrangle them both into my little plan. If their personalities were any different, if they were anymore brusque and imposing just as they were on the outside, I could very well see myself alone. Then again, I had my pick of the litter this year. They're plenty of gullible people this time around. Joelle and the Eight girl, the Six Boy and Cian's District partner - as doomed as those alliances seemed.

However, Cian and Herrick will do. They're more than capable of carrying us through what the arena might hold. Screwing them over won't be necessary at the moment, but saving my own skin will become more prevalent as time goes on.

* * *

 ** _"The Canny."_**

 ** _Rianne Verano, 16, District 9_**

* * *

"Swing _harder_."

I swing, just as she instructed.

She shakes her head. "Harder. I should be able to hear the blade cutting through the air."

I nod, swinging as hard as I can. I hear what she's talking about, that *swoop* noise the sickle makes as I chop downward.

I look up at the imposing woman. Her face scrounges into a scowl as she mutters to herself, taking back my sickle as she hands me another. The carbon black sickle I just had was replaced with a flashy metal one, fitted with three holes and serrated edges. My blood runs cold at the variations of what back home . . . is just a simple farming tool.

"Carbon blades are too heavy for you I guess. This blade should do, it's lighter." she glances back at me, frowning as she regards the sleeve of my shirt.

"You're from District 9, no? Don't you use sickles on the regular?" She asks incredulously.

I shake my head slightly. "Not really, I harvested berries mostly. My brother Connor would harvest the grain."

"Right . . ." Claudia nods as she steps forward and assesses my dummy. My stomach sinks as she sinks a finger into the gash in its torso. She inspects the blood on her index finger. She frowns as she sees it only reaches the tip of her finger, which I _assume_ is a bad thing.

The Head Trainer shakes her head in slight disappointment. "Strike _harder._ With the strike you just delivered, your opponent will still have a _seventy percent_ combat efficiency."

I sigh, rubbing my neck from the day's exhaustion getting to me. I glance at the large clock near the elevators, letting out a sigh at the _four o'clock_ beaming down at me.

 _Excuse me_ for not knowing how to maim another teenager more efficiently.

"I'm sorry Claudia, I'm just trying my best here . . . I -"

She raises her hand, not wanting to hear my explanation. "Try telling that to a Career tribute or any other older tributes when you're in the arena and you'll be dead before you say _"I'm"._ "

I motion to counter her argument, but it falls flat. She's right. She's only trying to look out for my best interests. When the gong goes off, and I'm on the battlefield, there's no room for mistakes. Come on Rianne, you're better than delivering seventy percent combat efficiency . . . you should be delivering _negative seventy._

 _"_ You're right Claudia _."_ I breathe _,_ "I'm much more capable of dealing more damage than a petty scratch."

 _"_ I _know_ I'm right, Tribute _."_ she lines up the dummy again, "Are you ready? Try again and this time, put some more force into your strikes. The results will be obvious."

I nod, rolling my shoulders and giving my sickle one last practice swing.

Bracing myself, I slash upward towards the neck then downward towards the chest. The result of my renewed effort is a shower of beads from the dummies torso, its head sits crooked on its sliced neck.

I turn to my side, smiling slightly as Claudia casts thumbs up my way. Adele and Joelle seem to have been spectating as well, clapping politely as Avoxes swoop in and clean up the mess.

My cheeks burn with flattery at her light applause. I'm not really much of an attention person, but these two keep heaping it on me. I'm not quite sure what to think of it.

"You guys really think I'm an expert, huh?"

"Well, _duh_ , better than me. Great job Rianne!" cheers Adele.

Joelle pours on her praise as well. "Yeah, lucky you, at least you can use a bigger weapon, unlike me and daggers. You think being from District 10 I would have better luck with a sword or something . . ."

I say my thank you as I continue to swipe at each dummy Claudia would put in front of me. With each strike, my confidence grew. It grew to the point that I deemed my skill with the sickle had met my level of perfection. Things could never be left at fifty or seventy five percent, you must always get it done to a tee, or else there's no point in bothering to continue.

I stop, turning towards Adele and Joelle who continue to stand and spectate me, while casually working with their own weapons of choice. Why we're they still there?

"Um . . . I was going to go to the survival section and work on berries some more, because you could never be too sure about the arena? Do you guys wanna join?"

Having nothing else better to do, they nod, as I give Claudia back her sickle as we move towards the survival station. As predicted, Joelle and I ace the firemaking and the berry sorting like nobody's business. What I find surprising is Adele's immense knowledge when it came to "survival", her berry knowledge is on par with someone born in a field District. To my knowledge, Eight was all city . . .

"Within the city Mom and Dad run a community garden and a flower shop of sorts. I helped them out." she says when I inquire about her impeccable skills.

"You know," begins Joelle. "We never really asked if you wanted to partner up with us."

I glance up at her from my field guide, grinning. "No, no you haven't."

"Wellllll . . ." drawls Adele, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. "Would you like to? It's funny you know, eating lunch together for the past two days and we weren't really an alliance, just three girls hanging out."

The three of us giggle at the odd predicament, with my snorts carrying a certain hesitance to them. That fear I've known for so long begins to bubble up, the fear of not being up to par . . . Them not being up to par, the fear of failure itself.

Fortunately for me, the bell sounds off, signifying another day over as tributes begin to pack up and head towards their floors.

Adele clutches my hand. "At seven, we'll be having dinner at Joelle's floor. Think about it and then come join us if you're up for it!"

* * *

After training, all while pondering my relationship between Joelle, Adele I continue to watch the recaps of prominent District 9 tributes prescribed by Sindy.

" _Welcome back to "The Forties; the decade of brutality!_ " says the host Chad Blakely." _After Chaff Mitchell, we have Daniel Bernhardt of District 9. Like James Logan of District 5, and Brutus Gunn of District 2, Dan was also known for his brutality and Career-esque proficiency with his sickle!"_

Daniel was a handsome, wavy haired boy with lean muscles and a chiseled face. He too used a sickle to a deadly degree, eviscerating even the strongest of tributes in his field like arena. His skills as a wrestler during high school ontop of his full time a a harvester proved deadly to those not acquainted with a field type arena.

Too bad he died in the quell . . . by the looks of it, he was killed while trying to drown Peeta from District 12. I wonder if we would've been better off with or without him. Sindy tries her best, unlike the others before her. While working a blender, she hums _"Wonderful, Wonderful!"_ as she serves the blenders contents into two tall cups, then sashays towards the living room without a care in the world.

"So, Riannnnnnnnnne!" beams Sindy as she plops down onto the couch, passing me a fruit smoothie. "How was day two!?"

Pausing the television I take the smoothie, sipping and relishing in its icy thickness and then unpause the television. "Day two was well. I went with the sickle like we agreed and I feel confident in using it now."

"Good, very good." she mews, humming at the taste of her smoothie. "What else is worth noting today?"

I put down the smoothie. "The girls, Adele and Joelle want me as an ally."

Her lips twist into a confused frown. "Weren't you already allies?"

My cheeks redden. "We've been hanging out for the past two days, but we only got around to actually asking _today_."

She studies my features, humming as she goes for another sip of her drink. "Why the big delay?"

I frown. I was hesitant with the girls the same way I was hesitant for Mentan - the dependency. In the Hunger Games, self reliance seemed to be a key factor in whether one lived or died. I understand that people who think that alliances and their safety blanket only lasted for so long.

I shrug. "Self-reliance I guess. I don't want to invest my trust into people I don't know in the possibility they screw up my chances . . . and vice versa. I don't want to fall victim because the other guys beside me fall into disarray."

She plays with my hair. "Then _continue_ to be self reliant, _duh_!"

"Wha, I don't follow?"

She clucks her tongue. "Why do you guys always conform to your group? Sure, you have to be on one accord as allies, but the contract is non-binding!" she trills, her earrings clinking as she goes for another sip.

"Non-binding . . . I kinda understand what you're getting at." I murmur, watching Daniel as he spoke with Caesar Flickerman on interview night during '75.

She's right, no? I can still plot my path forward while taking in Joelle and Adele's considerations. If they don't work out, or if push comes to shove, I'll stick with my plans. I don't have to worry about being brought down by them, because my way of doing things will still be there. Besides, the three of us are on the same level, if two whole days of bonding without officially being allies doesn't spell that out already.

I look at the time, it's about half past six and the meet up is at seven. I believe I've made my decision.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading of course . . . I wonder who you Belgian and Indian people are. Always interesting to see people outside of North America reading my stuff, especially Indian! Anyways, thank you.**

 **To those of you who care, I'm just wrapping college, so updates are slow, but I've prewritten some stuff, so we should be okay.**

Careers: **Aliyah, Luana, Nicolao, Merlyn, Vincent, Meryln, Kite**  
Group 1: **Landry, Tamir, Rafaela**  
Group 2: **Jai, Lumina**  
Group 3: **Joelle, Rianne, Adele**  
Group 4: **Tybalt, Cian, Herrick**  
Group 5: **Mentan, James, Evara**  
Group 6: _**Cveta, Occo, Valentina  
**_ Group 7: _ **Marcia, Orville**_

 **Take my poll on my profile page. I'd like to try my hand at a sequel, but since most of you are "inactive" and more passive readers, I'm not sure if it would make sense to start another...even though I have everything in my mind planned. I have five prolouge chapters set up at the moment when I wrap this up, so I dunno! I'd love for you guys to submit if I do.**


	15. Training Pt Three

_**Haus Der Toten; 95th Hunger Games**_  
 _ **Training: Part Three.**_

* * *

 _ **"The Spirited."**_

 _ **Vincent Barlow, 18, District 1**_

* * *

We're getting _closer_.

A part of me almost - _almost_ \- wishes we were through with the Capitol luxury treatment and in the arena already. In the arena where I can _shine_ , and put on a show that will blow the socks off _everyone_ who witnesses it.

Witnesses _me_.

Even _Mom and Dad_ for that matter.

Jamie was always considered the gem of the family. He had it all, a good wife, kids a stellar job . . . Mom and Dad adored him. Maybe now, when they see me at my fullest potential, _they too_ will adore me. If _LaGuardia Academy School for Aspiring Victors_ was good for one thing, it was tapping into people's potential. Every coal could become a diamond if you lend them a year to break you in.

As of right now, I can't really complain. So far, all is going well. Amazing chariot rides, a great team of mentors working around the clock to make sure we have potential suitors lined up to sponsor us . . . our allies are kind of cool . . . Luana has been a more maternal alternative to the more brusque Aliyah. Kite is a stand up guy, Nicolao holds his own pretty well and Skylar So far, it's smooth sailing.

It'll be sad to see them go when the time comes for it.

Rouge, our escort, sits in the living room as she and our other Victors - Zenira and Kaiser - engage in phone conversations with potential sponsors while Cessna, Glisten, Luana and I eat away at breakfast. The three of them chatter amiably as they saunter through the penthouse, making exaggerated gestures and soft laughs as they deliberate with the persons on the other end. It very much reminds me of a drama sketch back at school.

"So, _like,_ here we are!" chirps Cessna, our mentor with the croaky voice most District 1 women have. For some _Snowforsaken reason_ , Most if not all their sentences end with a _question_? And seem to be very _ditsy_? And _materialistic_?

"Day three of your training, how are you guys feeling!?" she nods to an Avox who serves her a mini pitcher of honey to go with her pancakes.

"Very well Cessna, thank you for asking!" I smirk, going for a gulp of OJ.

Luana seems in decent spirits. "We're alright I guess. There _is_ the whole thing with the Snow Island girl leaving us."

" _Forget_ about her." scoffs Glisten as he spreads jam on a scone.

"We can't just _forget_ about her . . ."

"Why not?"

"Well, a certain _someone_ won't shut up about her jumping ship and joining the Sevens."

Cessna shrugs. " _Total_ drag. Those Twos don't know when to _like,_ simmer down!"

"What Cessna said," nods Glisten. "Let them dwell on what's not important, better for us than them."

Luana nods in slight agreement. "I guess no matter how much I don't want to believe it, community doesn't mean much in the games." she mutters, not that our mentors really hear what she said, as the two of them move over to the living room when Rouge makes an exclamation of glee. She probably bagged a sponsor of sorts.

"It's okay Luana." I jostle her shoulder. "It's all just a part of the narrative that makes the Hunger Games so intriguing!"

"Yeah, for _them_ maybe, not the people who are actually going through it _themselves_ . . ."

* * *

" _Heeey_ guys . . . _erm_ , what are you up to?" murmurs Nicolao, caressing his knuckles as her peers up into the trees, watching as the six of us lay in our hammocks without a care in the world.

"Just chillin," I say, swinging back and forth as I launch shurikens into a tree in a horizontal pattern. I glare as Aliyah continues to puff away on a _Lucky Drag_. "You're going to kill us all off before the Gamemakers do if you keep puffing on that up here."

I give my head a shake as Aliyah gives me the bird from her rope hammock. " _Relax,_ it's just a e-cig, no harm done.". At least she's tame now for once, instead of harping on about Rafaela and the District 7 tributes.

"An e-cig?" I inquire, letting out a soft ' _oooh_ ' as the tip of the metallic cylinder between her lips glows blow as she inhales.

"Yeah, an e-cig, you know- e _lectronic cigarettes_? These Capitol's _sure_ know how to innovate. Our mentor Zenobia says it's better than the regular."

Skylar scrounges her face as Aliyah lets out an exhale. "I'm surprised you haven't creamed your lungs."

"I'm like . . . _eighteen_ , I manage."

Nic doesn't seem much moved by our inactivity. "Don't you guys wanna put in some final skills before the private sessions?"

"No thanks!" chimes Kite, playing with the single pearl earring in his left ear. "I'm all _trained out_. I'd rather watch the other guys flounder."

"Why would we do that Nic . . .?" adds Merlyn, his first words of the day.

"I dunno, you'd think there was still more to learn, no?"

I scoff, joining the others in light laughter as Nic still seems slightly out of the loop. "Buddy, we're _Careers._ Seven hours of training lost is _nothing_ over twelve years of learning."

His mouth is agape, prompting more laughs from the rest of us. "You've been at this for _twelve_ years?"

Luana jostles her head back and forth in acknowledgement. "Pretty much, since . . . six years old?"

"Woah . . . on Snow Island, we usually do it for food and a warm bed." murmurs Nic. "So . . . are we ready?"

He holds up his hands in faux defeat as various variations of ' _Duh!?', 'Of course!'_ And ' _What type of question is that!'_ are spewed his way. We all end up laughing at our little exchange, Nic muttering something about ' _If you can't beat em', join em!_ ' as he assembles a hammock of his own.

My laughs die down to a snicker as we all let out a sigh. The process is pretty much laid at our feet, being the crowd favourites after all. There's not much else you can do. Of course we're ready. Of course I'm ready. Tomorrow, I go all out at our private sessions, woo the audience at _The Marceline Devereaux Show_ , avoid the defensive mine that is Aliyah and I'm set.

Hopefully the arena holds its weight and the Head Gamemaker grows a pair and gives the little ones a equal share of the stress.

* * *

 ** _"The Stately."_**

 ** _Kite Winderley, 18, District 4_**

* * *

Unfortunately, our moment of respite seems to be coming to an end, as Claudia and her subordinates march over to the pillars.

She blows a whistle, claiming the attention of everyone in the gymnasium. When she's content everyone is paying attention, she motions for the megaphone in the hands of one of the other instructors.

She clears her throat. " _Attention tributes!_ Today is your final day of training. You've all made acceptable progress since day one, but the worst is _yet_ to come." her eyes scan each and every tribute in the room. She goes on to explain the mandatory assessment tests _'To ensure everyone is fit for the conditions about to be imposed on them. The Capitol is reasonable; each tribute should at least have the minimum skills needed to sustain themselves while in the arena . . ."_

 _"_ Does this include us Miss Claudia!?" I yell from the foliage, to the laughs of my fellow Careers.

I receive an groan and an eye roll in exchange. " _Yes Winderely_ , this assessment includes you and your gaggle of allies too!" she barks, grinning at the groans and jeers that follow. "Now get down here, you're holding up the other tributes."

Vincent groans. "Just as I was getting _comfy_. . . "

"Do we _have_ to go?" grumbles Nic.

"Well, you heard the woman!" I say, leaping from my hammock onto the concrete floor. "Unfortunately, _yes._ "

Skylar follows not even a second after, followed by Nic, Merlyn, Aliyah, Vincent and Luana. "C'mon, with us involved, this assessment would be _no contest._ " she says, lacing up her boots.

Luana pats her back, a comforting smile on her face. "Glisten Hemingway, one of our Victors, says that our whole "training" before hand is still just an _assumption_ after forty years of Hunger Games, so I guess it's all just formalities, even though it's pretty obvious our District's still have an edge."

"Yup," I say, as we all begin our walk towards the agility maze. "Just a perk of being loyal subjects I suppose."

"Whatever . . ." grunts Aliyah as she slips her cigarette into her breast pocket. "The fast we wipe the floor with these _outliers_ , the quicker we can relax again. So let's get to it."

I nod, easing into line behind the mouthy group led by the District 8 boy, James? Nic sends an uneasy smile towards Rafaela, who frowns when Aliyah drags him back in line.

We're fairly high up, the obstacle course is filled with logs to leap on, rope to swing to and from the pedestals, some nets, and to top it all off - a modest body of water. It reminds me so much of the wipeout games you would see on _Capitol TV._

It shouldn't be _too too_ hard to complete.

"I'm so _tired_ . . ." mutters James as he crosses his arms in frustration. Vincent laughs at this, clamping the boy on the shoulder as he leans in. "Don't worry buddy!" he jeers, shaking the boy around. "You can rest after I kill you!"

Evara, the District 3 girl, scoffs. "You don't know when to _can it,_ do you?"

"Nah . . ." retorts Vincent. "I'm like a chatterbox; I just keep _going and going and going . . ._ "

I sigh, smirking as Merlyn seems to do the same. The downside to this whole alliance thing is the need for people to run their mouths and stroke their ego . . . I.e. a certain District 1 male and 2 female. I'm already know I'm better than ninety percent of the room, and I'll exert that fact in my skills, not with my mouth or intimidation. In fact, if we just chilled out a little bit more maybe Rafaela would still be here and we'd be whole again. I would've voted for Luana, but I don't need Aliyah on my back.

In the end, the chips fall where they did. Now it's just for the best to stick together until that's no longer viable. Then, I make my family proud the way we've always wanted to for _generations_ \- The _Winderely_ way - with tact, intellect and a little showmanship here and there.

"I'm glad you know yourself." spits Evara with a scoff.

Vincent beams at the insult. "You know Evara, _I'm glad I know myself too!_ In fact-" he shoves his way past her and the Nine boy -Mentan - ignoring the sharp _'Hey!'_ and _'What's your damage!?'_ from Evara and James.

"Since I know myself, and _I know_ I'm better than you three-" he eases himself just behind the thirteen year olds from District 6 and 11. "I'll just go _before_ you, as _I know I'll_ breeze past this course no problem!"

Aliyah and the rest of them giggle as James' skin turns a hue of pink. Claudia blows her whistle as each tribute advances in small groups. The pair from District 12 does pretty well, as do the three girls from Eight, Nine and Ten. Rafaela does better than all of them, working the ropes and pedestals like a trained monkey, as does Marcia from District 11.

Minutes later, it's our turn to shine. Vincent griming like an idiot as James still carries that pink tint to his skin. All the Careers are in this heat, as well as Landry and Tamir.

"Eehehhehe . . . What the fucks wrong with you, Eight? You look like . . . you're about to explode or something!" Vincent pants between snorts, shrugging as he receives no answer from the angered boy.

As soon as Claudia blows the whistle, what happens next is . . . quite remarkable if you ask me. We all break into a sprint. Just as Vincent's left leg pumps into the air, James sends a foot flying into his right shin. Vincent lets out a startled yell when Tamir outta nowhere, shoves him off the pedestal as Vincent belly flops into the body of water below.

We all laugh out loud; Landry looks rather ticked, while the other tributes wisely turn the other way, or keep their mouths covered as Vincent splutters below. The instructors and Peacekeepers rush in to aid our friend out of the pool of water and away from the gym before he could even get a word in.

When he gets back . . . there will be hell fire to pay.

Either way, the heat was a breeze, with all the Careers- minus Vincent- plus Landry, Rafaela and Marcia alongside Rianne from District 9 making the final heat.

As I prepare to go another round, I think to myself- am I ready for the games? _Snow_ , of course I'm ready! I have a decent alliance, a good head on my shoulders, what could possibly go wrong?

* * *

 ** _"The Tactician."_**

 ** _Tamir Acker, 14, District 7_**

* * *

The mandatory assessments went _very well_ I might add, for obvious reasons.

The idiot boy from District 1 finally got a taste of payback, with a kick to the shin and a shove featuring _yours truly_. Landry and Rafaela held back on the final assessment, especially the Rianne girl and Marcia. Even though they're all from Districts in which field work and the outdoors we're an afterthought. It's better to be lackluster in the eyes of the Careers than a threat I suppose.

I don't see it that way, _obviously._ I rather let them know I ain't a pushover and that I'll gladly give them an example as why _I'm not._

Rafaela and Landry bound over to me, looking none too happy. Shouldn't they be? Vincent got what he _deserved._ For once, a Career got showed up at their own game. I'd do it again, I don't care.

I suppose they're not too happy, Landry's talon-like nails digs into my shoulder as she drags me over to the knives section, with Rafaela hot on our heels.

"What's your problem?! Let me go Landry!" she manhandles me to the side, almost making me collide with the shelves. Her arms folded, Landry shakes her head as Rafaela plants her hands on her hips.

"Tamir, what were you _thinking_!?" Landry shrieks as her hands tremble with fury. I swear from the corner of Landry's head, I can make out Vi and Pax standing off to the side near a pillar. Vi glances up and down frantically from her data pad as Pax appears to be dictating something to her . . . all while starring at us.

"I was thinking that Vincent needed to learn a lesson." I say casually, shrugging as Landry's blue orbs bulge out of their sockets. " _Please_ , don't give me that look! Look how much _crap_ he gave James!?"

" _So_ , what's it to us?" snaps Rafaela with an incredulous look spread across her face, her accent much more evident when angered. She begins to pace back and forth, muttering in Spanish.

"That ain't your fight. So _what_ if they get pushed around!? _Aye yai yai_ . . . _dios mio_ , I guess Vi and Pax we're right..."

"As much as I would do the same thing, they have _rules in place!"_ Landry moans, sucking her teeth as she massages her temples. "Why couldn't you just _wait_ until the arena like everyone else! Just as I was thinking they'd forgotten about your little episode at the opening ceremony!"

She takes a deep breath, raising her hands in an attempt to formulate a sentence. All that comes out is a groan of sorts as I cast an eyeroll her way.

"All you had to do was wait _, WAIT!_ Why can't you just keep your head cool?!"

"Oh _come on_ Landry, back home you would've done the same thing."

"This isn't HOME! We're in the HUNGER GAMES with other kids who KILL, FOR, _SPORT_!"

I let out a sigh, ignoring her labored pants and dry heaves as Rafaela continues to mutter in her native tongue. "¿Qué vamos a hacer, qué vamos a hacer!? Oh _Dios mío_ . . ."

"Guys don't have a cow! If you guys are worried so much, their beef is with James, Evara and Mentan. I doubt they noticed I had anything to do with it . . ." I glance around- the Careers must've gone to go check up on Vincent. James and Evara swing swords while Mentan trembles with anxiety.

Vi and Pax are gone from the pillar they were hiding behind.

After the girls got off their mood swing, we've decided to toss some knives around. Landry, given her background at home, throws the knives with near perfect accuracy, not as good as a Career but just enough to survive. Rafaela blows us both out of the water; even though she says she quit Career training to pursue business. We do this for a while, until our knives are no longer missing the pixel bodies that dart from one end of the range to another. The gym is quiet without the Careers, nothing could be heard besides the odd grunt and *thunk* of weapons hitting dummies and instructors giving instructions.

That changes with the loud bang the main doors give as Vincent barges in with his posse looking none too happy. His clothes are now dry; he seems to have taken no injuries from his tumble at the agility run.

We all gawk as the seven of them stride towards James and his group, looking _pretty frosted_ obviously. James and his group seem unaware of their entrance.

"Hey Eight-"

Mentan tries to form a protective barrier between Vincent and James, but Aliyah shoves the boy out the way while the Four female keeps Evara at bay. Rafaela's partner, alongside the Four male and Vincent's partner seem disturbed by the act, while Aliyah's partner just smirks at the scene as if he were watching television.

"-You think you're smart, kicking me the way you did?!" Vincent grabs James by the shirt, jostling him around and berating him about kicking him in the shin. The Peacekeepers rush in, holding the two boys back.

"Just you wait Eight, you _little punk_! Watch your back when the gong goes off!"

The commotion settles as Rafaela, Landry and I turn back towards our knife throwing. Minutes later, there's a pressure I can't put my finger on looming in my personal space.

I turn around to see Vincent glaring down at me, with his posse not too far away.

"Is there a problem _One_?" I say, returning his glare with equal intensity.

"Don't think I forgot about you _Seven._ " the boy seethes.

"Hey, you crossed me." I say casually. "So I showed you an example of what _happens_ when you do."

"You got quite the pair of balls there, Seven" spits Aliyah who takes a puff of her cigarette.

I snort. "Gee thanks, Two! _Yeah,_ your dyke girlfriend back in District 2 dropped them for me."

"You _fu_ -"

I back away just in time to watch her fist enter and leave my eyesight.

"MARINI, BARLOW!" barks Claudia from the main pedestal, "Last warning!"

Landry steps in front of me, Rafaela too. "You heard the woman," says Landry in a sweet voice brimming with falseness. ", Last warning _, no fighting with the other tributes'._ Go vent on a dummy or something, you _lunks_."

Vincent and Aliyah exchange glances, as Aliyah makes a head gesture towards her posse. "C'mon . . . let's get back to our hammocks, I'm not wasting any more time on these nosebleeds. Talk means nothing when the going goes off."

As the Careers climb up into the foliage like the golems they are, Landry lets out an exasperated sigh as Rafaela plops down on a bench.

I go back to the bow and arrows, shooting each dummy to the best of my ability. _I'm ready for this_ ; I won't let them have their way like they own the place. L _ike I said, don't cross me, it won't be pretty._

* * *

 ** _"The Dignified."_**

 ** _Lumina Reiss, 17, District 12_**

* * *

"You see-" says Jai with a faux sense of confusion, "You townies have it _too easy,_ you know, with your constant electricity, top range ovens and those fancy _Zip!_ automobiles. . . I'd be genuinely scared if you had to do anything _physical_ for yourselves!"

Being a upper echelon within District 12 of all places has its perks. Lowly seam housekeepers beckoning to your every whim, the occasional social gathering with visiting Capitol dignitaries, a decent home to live in, so on and so forth.

But as I sit here with an amused Jai, who cackles at me while I struggle to conjure up a spark to make a simple fire . . . It sort of makes me want to be a seam rat like him.

 _Sort of._

 _"_ Work your hands in a downward motion Reiss!" chides the instructor as Jai continues to howl like a hyena.

"Shut up Jai, you laugh like a _idiot!_ " I seethe, he laughs even harder as I jut out a boot to kick him, only for it to miss.

" _Come on_ townie, this is textbook District 12!"

I growl with frustration. "You forget I wasn't even _born_ in Twelve! I'm District 3 _through and through,_ physicality isn't our strong-suit." I toss the stick away, scoffing as I cross my arms in disdain.

"How about you focus on the surviving portion, and I focus on the shooting arrows bit?"

Jai shakes his head. "You can't give up so easily. We don't know what the arena holds, so in the event that I'm not around to save your butt from dying from exposure," he smirks as I mew out a slight _'hmph'_ , "You _need_ to learn on your own."

He envelops my hands in his and I'm quick to swipe them away.

" _Excuse me_ Jai, _may I ask_ why you clutched my hands the way you just did?"

I scoff as he repeats the gesture again. " _Relax_ townie, don't get your panties in a twist." he retorts, grabbing the stick and putting it between my hands.

"You're not my _type_ anyway."

A smug smile plays on my lips. " _Who is_ your type pray tell, _Ainsley?"_

Just as I expected, he blushes, shoving me away as I begin to snicker myself. " _Shut up_ and bring your hands over here, will ya?"

I oblige, enveloping my hands in his as he begins to rub them together. With how fast he was going, I was surprised my hands didn't _catch fire_ themselves. Rapidly, his hands twist downward, until the bundle of moss begins to smolder between our two knees.

"Okay . . . now finish it up. Remember; rub _downward_ in a quick motion."

He holds back a snort from becoming a full blown laugh. Once I put two and two together, I can't help but scoff in disgust.

"Okay okay . . . _I'm sorry,_ mind in the gutter. Go go! Downward."

I nod, rubbing downward- then back up - then downward again over and over, until the smolders turned into light flames. Quickly cupping the burning moss and plopping it down on the firewood, the instructor gives us a stern nod and thumbs up as Jai claps me on the back.

Maybe I was a little haste in my disdain and condemnation towards him here and back home. Surely, if I open myself up to new thoughts and ideas, the better off I would be. Jai doesn't seem too bad of a boy to converse with if our names weren't called.

"Not bad, townie _."_ he says, nodding towards the berries. "It wouldn't hurt to brush up on the mundane things."

So we do, heading off to the other survival stations to lock down our skills one last time. We start off going over the berries quiz five times to be certain. In typical field district fashion- we pass the test with flying colours - living in Twelve does has is perks I suppose. Next up, we head to the snares. Jai has no problem setting up the most intricate of traps, both human and animal.

"It seems everyone is getting into the swing of things." mutters Jai as he tests his snare.

I couldn't help but gawk as the quirky pair from District 5 and Cveta from District 6 create a ball of mud and fit it with sharpened sticks. From the foliage up above, the female- Valentina, swings the spiked clot of mud toward a gel torso and cheers at how it impales the dummy in multiple spots. They don't stop there; they dig out a plot of dirt, filling a pit with poison tipped sticks and cover the land up as if it were undisturbed. The Careers watch on of course, but judging by their looks - they _won't_ be making a move on them anytime soon- and with good reasoning.

"Time's flying by _so fast_ , tomorrow we have the private sessions, after that the _interviews_ and then-"

"-The stockyards," I say, "Then the games themselves." I finish, casting out my fishing rod in the artificial river. They have _everything_ in this place, don't they?

"Are we ready?" Jai asks as his lips scrounge into a frown.

I nod slightly, shrugging my shoulders as I secure my rod among the rocks. What else can we possibly do now? Jai has his strength and I have my weapons skills. All we can do now is hope everything goes well when the gong goes off.

"I think so? What else can we really do, it'll be pointless to try and pick up anything else?"

"Gimme a moment," I nod as Jai hums in thought. The other tributes seem to be desperately at work, trying to cram some final skills in before the private sessions. The Careers of course, with their apparent training, laze around in hammocks and crack jokes without so much of a _care_.

"I have an idea!" Jai points towards the simulation room, which currently stands vacant. "It'd be a pretty good indicator in telling us where we stand?"

Letting out a sigh, I extend my hand as Jai clasps it and tugs me upward. "Okay! Let's do it shall we?"

He gestures towards the room. "After you, m'darling!"

So we saunter over to the closed off room polarized for privacy I suppose. Claudia, who runs the room, fitting us with special motion sensors, asks us to pick a weapon of choice. I go for a crossbow - the C No.3 SLC, the self-loading variant of the crossbow developed by Reiss Industries - the company I was due to take over from my parents.

It'd be too easy to use; having a five bolt magazine- so I doubt it'd be in the arena. I frown as Jai selects a M-2143 plasma rifle with a bayonet attached to the barrel.

My face meets my palm as I let out a soft groan. "I doubt they'll have a plasma rifle in the arena Jai, _regardless_ if they have them in here."

Jai frowns like a insolent child. "So? It looks cool! You never know . . ." his shoulders slump as I continue my hardened gaze. " _Finnnnnnnne_ . . ." he relents, selecting a knife as he slides it in his boot. "There, happy?"

A smug smile plays on my lips as I gently slap his chin. "Very."

"Okay tributes," says Claudia, "Please step inside and prepare yourselves." we both nod and with a deep breath, we enter through the sliding doors and into the dark room.

Seconds turn into minutes, with only our breathing being heard as we wait for the simulation to start.

"You ready for this, townie?" smirks Jai, as he presses his back to mine.

I smile somewhat. "Ready as I'll ever be."

As I finish, a flash of yellow points towards a balcony, creating a dummy wielding an axe. Just in the nick of time, Jai shoves me out of the way as he fires a burst of violet at the dummy, killing it with a shot to the head. Before we could catch our breath, a dummy is on us with a sword. It collides with Jai's rifle as he blocks the attack. Jai shoves the dummy backward as I fire a shot to the chest, dissolving it into tiny pixels.

Jai grabs me again, tossing me to the side as he engages a dummy with a mace. With the butt of his rifle, he swings for the head then impales the dummy with a jab of the bayonet. Two more go after him, but just as I stand up to help engage, multiple dummies appear on the balconies, shooting arrows and slinging knives. I quickly engage them; shooting arrow after arrow and watching them implode.

I move to reload, but just as I slip a magazine back in a dummy knocks the crossbow out of my reach while shoving me to the floor. Jai doesn't seem to fair well either, shooting and killing one dummy and bayoneting another only to get the rifle knocked out of his hands by the third large and imposing dummy.

"Ummm, _townie_ I could use your help here!"

" _Yeah, yeah_ , I'm coming!" lunging towards my crossbow, I roll out the way just in time as the dummy's hammer collides with the floor. Reunited with it, I quickly dispatch the hammer dummy with a bolt to the chest.

"Jai, go for the legs!" and he does, lunging for the final dummy and slicing its legs with his backup knife as it tumbles to the floor. With a running step I lunge on top of it, slamming my crossbow once, twice, _three times_ into its head as the silhouette dissolves into pixelated dust. The room is silent again, apart from our labored breaths. Some tributes watch on, while the Careers whisper to one another.

As I lay on the cold floor, panting all the while as I'm tangled with Jai, I can't help but think we may have a shot at this . . . one of us at least. The Seam rat and the town girl _as partners in crime_! I guess it's true what they say – opposites _do_ attract.

"Nice job, _Lumina_." huffs Jai.

"Thank you," I slap his hand, "You're not too bad yourself."

"So," pants Jai, "Do you think we're ready _now?_ "

I let out a hesitant chuckle. When's the last time District 12 appeared as confident as we did now? Two partners, astute in their goals of self-preservation, what more can we do? Ainsley was right, a little common ground and teamwork could take you along for _miles._

"Um . . . yeah," I nod, gulping as a breath escapes my lips.

"I suppose we are."

* * *

 ** _"The Thoughtful."_**

 ** _Marcia "Cia" Mata, 13, District 11_**

* * *

Thankfully, the jukebox is placed away from the typical Career booth, over to Orville and I's. Squealing inwardly, I break into a light jog, sliding as I grab hold of the bulky machine.

"Okay . . . let's try ' _Wonderful, Wonderful!_ ' by the Apollos? Nah . . . how about ' _Lollipop_ ' by the Barberettes? Meh, that'd be awkward given my reaping." I mutter as I continue to flicker through the selections.

"Maybe _Sugar_ by the Nakashima Brothers? Eh, no thanks, overplayed. "

" _Crazy In Love_ by Doris McKenzie? I doubt anyone is in the mood for dancing . . . Why does she escort when she makes millions of sesterces being a pop star?"

"How _aboutttt_ . . . Ricky Gonzales and Ophelia Wilcot's _Love Is Strange_?! Everyone loves them." I select just that, collecting my food and taking my seat in front of Orville.

All eyes turn towards the jukebox in fond recognition of the tangy guitar riff that floods the cafeteria.

 _Looove, mm mmmm, love is strange! Ye ye!_  
 _Lot of people, mm mmm take it for a game!_  
 _Once you geeeet it, mm mmm!_  
 _You never wanna quit, no nooo!_  
 _After you've had it, ye yeah!_ _  
_ _You're in an awful fix! *****_

I look on with awe as tributes who otherwise ignored one another exchanged lighthearted smiles and laughs at the popular song that they too, probably listened to over the radio back in their respective Districts. Surprisingly, even the Careers seemed happy about the song selection.

Even though the moment lasted a minute or two, it shed a moment of normalcy over a rather . . . _unfortunate_ situation. At least the food and accommodations were good, I guess.

It almost like the Capitol makes me want to think this were a vacation rather than . . . _Don't say it._

"I was thinking about trying out some guns after lunch." says Orville as he sips on a milkshake.

I raise an eyebrow, shoving a carrot into my mouth as I nod along to the instrumental. "Jack of all trades, are we?" I swallow, shaking another carrot in my finger along with the tune. "I already know _all_ the survival stuff, being District 11 and all."

He smiles just a tad. "It wouldn't hurt to know a little bit of everything. Me being a jack of all trades makes up for you knowing more about field survival. At least now I'm not _too too_ much of a liability."

I smile softly. "You're not a liability Orville. Out of everyone in this room, I'd still choose _you_ as an ally. We're both on the same boat here."

 _Baby, oooh baby, my sweet baaby . . . you're the one!_

He returns my smile just a little. "Thanks Cia . . . um, could you kindly give me my hand back? I need it to eat."

"Huh, _oh_ , whoops!" I look down, noticing my hand on top of is free one. I quickly retract the hand, both of us blushing all the while as we glance down at our plates. We continue to eat away at our food while talking over strategy, only stopping as the shaggy haired boy from District 8 peers over from his booth into ours.

" _Psst hey, you two_!"

I look up towards him from my ice cream float. "How can I help you James?"

"Me and my group were talking it over and . . . we were wondering if you guys wanted to link up with us?" he says with a grin.

I look into Orville's eyes; his thin lipped expression is enough of an answer to lean on. After what happened in the morning with the Careers, we might as well be ranked a thousand to one odds if we said yes. All we would be is extra cushioning to any blow that comes their way.

I'm optimistic, but not _that optimistic_ to join such a high profile group.

He frowns as I shake my head ' _no_ '. "No thanks, we're okay. Thanks for the offer though! If we see you in the arena after things settle down, we'll be glad to help."

He sends a faint smile our way, slinking back into his booth as Orville nods once in assent. It was as if he was trying to say _'Good, we don't need extra people with baggage.'_

I felt as if that our chances for survival had increased by a percentage due to my decision.

* * *

With lunch being over, we quickly head back to the gym for a mid afternoon grind. Orville and I, well mostly _Orville_ practice some swipes on a dummy with various knives and short swords. I've tried my way with a spear, but I can't seem to come to grips with impaling someone to death, so I leave the fighting up to Orville.

"It's important you learn how to defend yourself." he chides.

Yeah, maybe in defence I would think about it. In all honesty, I don't see myself killing anyone just because a gong goes off . . . it's not right. I don't know how Zinnia, Ms. or Mr. Linscott-Gordon cope with doing what they did to get out. _Oh,_ don't get me started on the parents.

 _MARCIA! You're talking about it again . . ._

Orville wanted to try out the guns, so we do, sitting down with protective visors as a trainer with a District 11 or even 10 drawl gives us the rundown. I've seen Peacekeepers lug these things around town; I've seen the effects of their lasers on criminal offenders. Sometimes, depending on the intensity, all one needs to do is sweep you up in a dust pan after they've finished you.

"This here is the M-2143 plasma pistol, solar battery powered, good for one hundred shots depending on the percentage of the battery. Hold down the trigger for a deadlier pulse, or a stun shot." he chuckles. "Although, I don't think you'll need the stun shot anytime soon, _heh heh heh_."

Orville and I exchange cautious glances.

"Well, _come on son_ , get shootin'!" he hands Orville the handgun. "It ain't gonna bite ya."

Orville seems to get the gist of shooting, hitting the target decently as I look over the other selections.

I level a rifle looking gun, moaning hesitantly as I take aim at a gel torso.

"What about this one?"

Before he had time to form a sentence, I pump the white bar backwards and pull the trigger, shrieking as a spray of violet erupts from the gun. The gel dummy was nothing but a charred mess from the chest up. I blush as the other tributes look over, and frown deeply as the Careers howl with laughter.

" . . . That there little Missy is the M-2150 scattergun. What we have is basically a shotgun with a single battery instead of shells."

I hand him the 'scattergun'. "That's good to know sir . . ."

After that, we do the agility test one last time, satisfied in our impressive scores. With these young bodies, speed is _one thing_ we have going for us. I let out a light cheer as Orville leaps from a nearby branch and lands on the balls of his feet, like a cat does on its fours.

"See, you got the hang of it Orville!" I smile, frowning as he doesn't seem to return the smile back. "What's wrong buddy?"

He motions his head towards the other tributes hard at work. "Let's be honest with ourselves Cia, I don't think this will end well for the both of us . . ."

I glance around, watching as the Careers continue to lounge in hammocks. Cian and his partners seem to have improved on their sword skills since day one . . . The pair from District 7 and the Snow Island girl are working pretty hard too. Heck, even the nice girls from Eight, Nine and Ten seem prepared . . . ' _seem_ '. Inwardly, they're all probably just as scared as Orville and I!

"So? We're doing just fine you and me!"

"We can't just beat around the bush Marcia. We're young, useless, as soon as the games kick of-"

" _NO!_ I _don't_ want to hear it right now Orville." I snap, caressing my arms as Orville's shoulders sink.

I don't want to think about the games. Whatever happens _happens._ There's no use speculating about the unknown. I like to think about like an adventure of sorts. You just have to keep your head up and keep on going on, like Mom said before I left - _Cia darlin', you just gotta keep taking it one da-_

"-Day at a time . . ." my voice fades out.

"Huh?" grunts Orville.

"You just gotta take it one day at a time, _Orville_."

"Who told you that?"

"My Mom . . ." I sniffle, wiping a stray tear out of my eye.

The boy sighs deeply, caressing my back. "I'd take you up on that advice if death weren't so close."

I raise a finger to interject, but I sigh instead. He just has a confidence issue, that's all! We're just as good as any other outlier out here. Zinnia did it, Gwendolyn Faraday did it? Who cares about scores from people who know nothing about you or the love and adornment of millions of Capitols who move from one object to the next?

You just have to cross the bridge when you reach it . . .

* * *

 ** _"The Sensitive."_**

 ** _Joelle Castro, 14, District 10_**

* * *

I smile slightly as the dummy spews red beads from the center of its chest. At least I'm getting _somewhere_.

"Good job so far, Joelle." nods Rianne as she continues to thumb through a field guide pertaining to types of arenas. _'Hunger Games Almanac- 94th Edition!: A Field Guide to Every Arena Conceived!'_ is the name of the book she seems so interested in.

"Thanks I guess," I say, twirling the dagger in my hands. "I still wish I had more luck with a sword or something."

"It's better to have decent skills with something practical than little skills with a flashy machete, I'd say."

I scowl. "You sound just like my mentor Annabelle. _'Joelle darlin', stick to what you know!_ ' yadda, yadda, yadda."

Rianne smirks, her eyes still glued to the book in front of her. "She's _right_. Half of these weapons might not even be available. At least _daggers_ are commonplace."

Yeah, a little bit _too common_. How will a puny knife please the Gamemakers, or the Capitol at large? Not with my whole outburst at the reaping. Everyone must be looking at me like a lost cause right about how. Heck, even the _Marcia girl_ didn't cry when she was called out and she's the youngest out of all of us! Even if she's only one year younger than I am, it still doesn't look good . . . She sang _Lollipop_ for Snow's sake!

Then again, who cares what they _think_. This whole thing may be commonplace for them after almost one hundred years, but for the average Joe outside their fancy bubbles this is anything but _normal_.

How could change be so drastic? From being a run-of-the-mill girl from District 10, big family, tons of friends and all, to stabbing dummies in preparation for a fight to the death?

Rianne glances at me, with a lopsided expression on her lips as she studies my features. "You okay Joelle?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I lie.

"Your face paints the opposite picture."

"I don't think I'm ready. I _want_ to be but . . ." I say flatly, sitting down on the bench beside Rianne.

Adele frowns, stepping away from the dummy she was practicing on. "Apart from the typical eight tributes . . . I don't think _anyone_ is ready, Joelle."

Rianne wets the tip of her finger, flipping a page of her almanac, frowning even though her eyes remain glued onto the page in front of her. "Why do you think you're _not ready?_ "

I scoff, tears threatening to pour down my cheeks. " _Come on_ , a girl from District 10 with more _babysitting experience_ than field experience and who cried her way to the stage?! It's not looking good at the moment . . . As much as I'd want it to."

As Adele plops down beside me and caresses my back, I can feel the alleviation from my anxiousness. "We're all a little scared; it all just comes down to how we choose to react to the problem at hand."

She smiles somewhat. "I'm not all that _prepared_ either, I work at a flower shop and run a garden! Just last week I was embroidering flowers on my outfits and picking new ones to sell for the shop." she chuckles just a little. "In _District 8_ of all places."

Rianne closes her book shut. " _And me?_ Well, I live out in a cabin somewhere in the middle of District 9. Just like you, I have a big family and community that love me."

"If you ask me, we're all cut from the same cloth." she says as I nod. Maybe I was a little selfish in saying I wasn't ready and that my condition was only specific to me. Then again, thinking about yourself is what keeps you alive.

I hum in agreement. Like the opening ceremonies and the day after that and so on, Rianne, Adele and I were almost drawn to each other. The three of us, meek, small town girls with a simple life ahead of them- before that life was put on hold, of course. With our similarities, I could use them to feed off of their strengths, prompting me to grow in the process.

If the tribute beside me works at a flower shop, or harvests a crop all day, then maybe _I do_ have an equal shot. What about the other non-Career tributes, they may also lead an underfed life, who's to say I don't have a chance? I can't just write myself off. If winning means bucking up and doing a few questionable actions, then so _be it._

"Where are you going, Joelle?!" Rianne calls as I get up and saunter towards the weapons rack.

I crane my head backward, smiling. I'll do anything to save my life right? I don't think a knife will cut it.

 _"_ I'm going to try the swords _one last_ time."

* * *

 ** _"The Enthusiastic."_**

 ** _Cian Landon, 18, District 11_**

* * *

Notching three arrows, I let them fly, smirking as they find a place in the torso of the gel dummy down range. No longer are my arrows sporadic or just completely missing the target.

Wherever I aim my bow, it strikes the target _just_ where I want it.

I try the pixel targets this time, utilizing the plethora of arrows the gymnasium has at its disposal. Electric arrows, smoke arrows . . . _explosive arrows, flame arrows,_ I doubt I would be able to get my hands on bolts like those, unless I have a decent sponsor by my side.

Judging by my intermediate skills with this bow, I don't see why those arrows might just end up in my arsenal sooner rather than _never. Then again,_ with a certain Capitol lapdog by the name of _Clarence Linscott-Gordon_ , who unfortunately happens to be a mentor and Victor of my district, I wouldn't be surprised if he sabotaged me due to my families participation within the war. I wouldn't put it behind the man, that's for sure. He's no stranger to selling out his own community in exchange for a bone from his Capitol masters.

The story has it that after the war, most if not all the rebel commanders within District 11 were killed in battle or executed after the Capitol retook District 13. Barley Johnson was the only one I knew. My father had served under him during the early stages of the Second Rebellion, but Barley apparently quit in order to protect his family. As soon as Clarence did some digging and found out, Mister Johnson was sent to the gallows, leaving behind a wife and countless children.

He _deserted,_ why bother the man?

"You got some impeccable skills, Landon." nods Head Trainer Claudia as the last pixelated dummy explodes into a mixture of yellow dust and flames from that specialized arrow.

I flash the older woman with a smile."Thank you Miss, I appreciate it."

She picks up a bow of her own, caressing its features as she grunts in return. "Yes . . . the English longbow is a _personal_ favourite of mine. Hopefully, it gets it's due when the games begin."

She gives me a couple of techniques here and there, such as how to better my movements, the "realism" concerning using multiple arrows among other things. After my little crash course, I feel satisfied in my archery. Besides the District 12 girl, who's crossbow skills would make _Katniss Everdeen_ blush, and the District 7 boy on occasion, there are no archers.

Having a harvesting job in the orchards does wonders when it comes to using a sword or machete, just in case a bow isn't available. Outer district prowess with blades is on full display, evidently seen in my District 10 cousin, Tybalt, as he spars with Herrick.

Swordplay comes with little learning curve for Tybalt, as he effortlessly lashes out at Herrick who holds his own well for a District supposedly filled with eggheads.

"I saw you with the arrows . . ." Tybalt says as he dodges a swipe from Herrick, "You're . . . pretty good!" pants Tybalt as he strikes him in the chest.

" _Yes_ , gotcha Herrick!"

"Pfft," snorts Herrick, nodding his thanks to the instructor as the man takes back the play-swords they used. "You got the edge my friend, working part time in a butchery does that."

"There won't be room for excuses when the games _beginn_ . . ." chides Tybalt as we walk over to a nearby fountain.

"Speaking of the games," I say, waiting until they've had their fill of water. "Do you think we're ready?" Tybalt smirks, swiping the excess water off his chin with the backside of his hand. We move from the fountain to a medium sized room, filled with archives and commentaries concerning previous Hunger Games for our education.

"Do _you_ think we're ready?"

I give a playful shrug. The Careers are an obvious threat and they know it, due to their lolling in the trees as if the Hunger Games were nonexistent. Besides them, the rest of the playing field is young and underfed. Besides the Careers and maybe the boy from twelve, we stand as the strongest outlier males this time around. The probability is in our favor for sure.

"The Careers have kept to themselves compared to other years; the nineties haven't been great to them so far. . . I have two great and capable guys as my partners? I genuinely think we're ready to tough it out until one of us has a shot."

Tybalt regards me with his typical, calculating smirk. "You're right. _However_ , some of these guys seem a little . . . _too ready_ for my liking."

He nods toward the various tributes as they go about their last minute regimens. "The kooks from District 5 . . . the pair from District 12 . . . They all look like they need to get knocked down a peg."

"The bloodbath with the Careers always thins out the herd, no?" inquires Herrick as he nods towards the giant tree they laze in.

Tybalt jostles his head back and forth. "True, but this year is different, just as the last one was. I don't think it'd hurt to take advantage of the confusion, no?"

"Whaddya mean?" I ask.

"Instead of being on the defence like every other year, we'll _partake_ as well." replies Tybalt. "For guys like us, it'd be a _cakewalk_."

I nod slightly. The guy makes sense. There's a lot of outlier competition to content with come bloodbath time. Depending on how the wind blows, we could really set ourselves apart if we attacked and defended ourselves . . .

Then again, am I really getting sucked into this? Compromising my morals to conspire against and kill other children like its nothing? Maybe, it's fair game. Maybe, just feet away from Tybalt, Herrick and I, the girls from 8, 9 and 10 are plotting my death right now.

If I want the crown to be plopped on my head, I'm going to have to make . . . _decisions_. Decisions like countless other children like me had to make to get out alive.

There has to be someway right? Someway to retain myself without fully indulging in the garbage out of desperation and crowd pleasing like some overzealous Career?

I look on as Herrick and Tybalt play an archive disk of the Seventy-Fifth. They're good guys, just like me, just making their way like everyone else until they got selected. The decisions I'm contemplating will possibly result in both of these stand up guys not coming home again. I know for a fact that they too, are thinking the same thing.

Would I be able to make them when the time comes? I'd like to think so.

* * *

 _ ***= Mickey & Sylvia "Love Is Strange" (1956) **_


	16. Private Sessions

_**No score reactions, just interviews. That'll be in five-four-four points of view. . . after that, three more chapters until the games themselves. Thanks for reading as per usual.**_

* * *

 _ **Haus Der Toten; 95th Hunger Games  
Private Gamemaker Sessions**_

* * *

 _ **Thames Hyperion, 50,  
Head Gamemaker**_

* * *

Five years into the job and people are starting to get . . . _agitated._

In '90, Ainsley took the crown, a scrawny community home rat from the Seam in District 12. She never brought much of the climatic action herself; the other tributes did that for her. She earned only one kill to her name, her district partner, who everyone else seemed to root for. If it weren't for the sewer system the infamous Squad 451 had ventured in during the Second Rebellion - I would've been removed for certain.

'91 . . . Piper Malveaux, like District 5 tributes before her, proved too crafty to dispose of. We sent fire phoenixes . . . fire bears, _fireballs_ even. For ten whole days she outlasted our efforts to best her. The two careers she was up against during the finally were too wounded to escape the flames that engulfed the forest, leaving her the Victor without a kill to her name. Her brain alone and how she evaded our traps sated the viewers enough to keep my job.

'92, Gwen Faraday of the technology district did her job, gassing a dozen of her competition to death, leaving a stuttering child as the Victor.

'93, Zinnia Parsons from District 11 played the games safe, literally. My colleagues and I thought nature would be her undoing. She only killed two people. One was killed by defence and the other by surprise.

In '94, the crowd loved the whole " _Joyceta_ " bit, two twelve year olds from Cuba- Snow Island - orphans at that, coming of age in an arena that was more than unforgiving. They played the game well, as career tributes often do. However, as the finale came along and left the two youths in front of the cornucopia, bodies of wolf mutts at their feet, about to be torn apart by more, I made the call to declare them joint Victors. They put on a good show towards the Capitol, no hint of rebellion, just the urge to go home and live normally. I don't blame them.

To the normal viewer, the past five years were spectacular. The fan clubs for these children are rapidly growing as they continue to grow older.

However . . . In some circles - _the politicians, the benefactors, the racketeers_ \- those who make money off the blood of _innocent_ children, are _livid_ at the lack of older, more violent Victors taking the crown.

 _"More blood, more capable Victors, less puny children._ " are the cries of the elite. I suppose that's what they'll get this year. Unlike many, my heart soared at seeing such young children overcome such short odds. Unfortunately, there's only so much leeway a Head Gamemaker can give before it catches up with them.

The big man himself - President Kane - had said he was shutting this down after the fourth quell. Hell, the legislation is being ratified now. Will he do it, can it be done? The legislative branch is in disarray- too many conflicting agendas to get most bills and legislation passed. The Ultra-nationalist coalition, composed of the Centrist, Conservative and Labour parties- are falling apart at the seams.

Hell, Kane is an independent while DeWynter leads the coalition with the other party leaders . . . the system will break down soon if people don't come together and reform it.

I'm interrupted from my brooding by my Avox, Delia. Wearing the typical red tunic and skirt, she offers a curtsy; stepping forward towards my desk and unveils an envelope from her sleeve.

 _In D4 right now. Gave them plans, on my way to land down under! See you friend. -Antipatros._

I smile, grinning from ear to ear as I shred the letter and let out a slight chuckle. "He did it, the boy did it!" I cheer, composing myself slightly as Delia taps her wrists, then points to the clock above the electronic fireplace. _Twelve o'clock in the afternoon._

"Oh yes, right I've forgotten!" I shrug on my blazer, then haphazardly clutch my dossiers by the bundle as I gesture toward the grand doors. "The private sessions are to begin. Come Delia, let's be on our way."

* * *

" _Alright, alight,_ alight ladies and gentlemen, please _listen up_!" I plead, as the VIP box is awash with howls of laughter and light jazz. For god's sake, it's _barely twelve thirty_ and they're halfway to drunkenness.

Thankfully, my junior Gamemakers listen, with Melchior and Yvette quickly straightening up from their lip-locking session- fixing his tie and covering up her stocking suspenders with her skirt. I march over to Vontavius, who like a child who's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, clutches something behind his back.

I extend my hand forward. "Fork it over. _WE'RE NOT EVEN ON DISTRICT 1 YET!_ Ugh . . ." I swipe the bottle of vodka from the young man, giving the sheepish boy one last glare as I slam the bottle onto the refreshment table.

"Okay, now that the zoo has been _corralled . . ._ " I hand out the dossiers to each Gamemaker, "We'll be doing the same thing as every other year, you'll make notes on the tributes you see today and give a preliminary score based on their performance. Tomorrow we'll reconvene officially to iron out our scores since by the end of all this, we'll be too inebriated to give proper judgment."

" . . . If you give into frivolous things like drink over _duty,_ I don't think _Gamemaking_ is for you." purrs a calm, sultry voice. "It makes me think, what else are you willing to _trade in_ over your duty?"

We all turn towards the doorway. Vice-President DeWynter, in a teal suit and a pillbox hat accompanied by Gideon Montresor and a plethora of high ranking military officials - each wearing immaculate uniforms decorated with medals and commendations, saunter into the room striking fear into the hearts of all of us.

What are _they_ doing here, why did she say that?! No no no, it's okay Thames! They would never suspect me; Thames Hyperion as a seditious traitor who leaks information to distant foreign powers since the Second Rebellion . . . they caught many if not all, but not me. I _should_ be safe.

 _Right?_

I force a smile, slightly gesturing to my colleagues to rise out of their seats in reverence. "Ah, Madam _Vice-President_ , what a pleasure to have you join us! Um, how is baby Matilda?"

She lays a hand on my cheek. "The baby is well, thank you for asking." she says, regarding me with those deep blue eyes of hers. "You seem tense. Is everything okay?"

The woman struts to her seat, her eyes on me all the while. _I'm not tense, I'm fine, what is she insinuating, what does she know?!_

I gulp. "Everything is okay Madam Vice-President, just wondering what brings you here, is all!"

"We _are_ on the executive committee after all. You know about the military brass, _always_ looking for algorithms." chides Gideon as he takes a glass and fills it with rum. "Say . . . where is Gamemaker Antipatros? I always liked the boy, nice smile, very pleasant."

 _He's on his way to the Grand Pacific Ocean with the plans to the arena to give to a foreign power. Finally my twenty-four years of rebellion are yielding fruitful results._

"He's in District 4. You know how _sickly_ he can get. The sea air does wonders for him."

Gideon nods passively, plopping down in a seat as Vi and Pax faze into view.

"Head Gamemaker Hyperion, the tributes are settled into the waiting area and are awaiting testing." chimes Vi, her Capitol and English accent giving her voice a pleasant tune to it.

I nod, breathing out as I take a seat next to DeWynter who continues to regard me with a light smile.

"Okay, bring them in!"

* * *

 _ **Snow Island**_

* * *

Nicolao Lucritus strides into the gymnasium, waving sheepishly towards the spectator box.

"Hello everyone, how are you today?"

I nod, a pleasant boy. "We are well Mr. Lucritus." I gesture to the rack of weapons and survival section. "Please, show us what you've learned."

The boy nods, plucking a rapier from the rack as he gestures for a trainer to come and duel him. A trainer looks my way and I nod, watching as the man jogs over to Nicolao and retrieves a rapier.

"O calm, dishonorable, vile submission!" the boy draws his rapier. "Tybalt you rat catcher, will you walk!?"

The spectator box fills with confused and intrigued murmurs, each of us shifting out of our seat. The trainer at first seems confused as well, but that feeling dissolves as a smile plays on his lips.

"What wouldst thou have with me . . .?" the man asks Nicolao.

"Good king of cats, nothing but one of your _nine lives_ ; Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out." says the boy, readying his stance.

The trainer draws. "I am for you."

Our eyes dart towards the eccentric Pax who leans outward over the balcony. "Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier _up_!"

Nicolao raises a hand towards us, as if to stop us from intervening from something. "Come sir, your _passado_."

And with that, the two charge one another. Nicolao shows good swordsmanship, expertly parrying the trainer's blows while delivering his own thrusts and quick slashes. His stances are perfect and his confidence unwavering.

Pax continues to yell out towards the dueling duo, as soon as he cries "Hold Tybalt, good Mercutio!" Nicolao stabs at the forearm of the trainer, effectively causing the sword to tumble out of his hand and the raising of his hands in defeat.

Gideon is the first to rise out of his seat, followed by everyone else as cheers flood the gymnasium. Nicolao bows, striding out of the gym over cries of 'Encore, encore!'.

"I like that kid." smirks Gideon, to the nods of approval from everyone else. A pleasant smile forms on the Vice-President's lips, but says nothing.

 _"A preliminary score of a seven for Nicolao. We all know the Games are a far cry from what we saw just now. Otherwise, he put on a very good show regardless."_

* * *

Rafaela, all that remains of a mobster's legacy, walks into the gymnasium. She lets out a yawn, rubbing her shoulders.

She waves lazily towards us. "Can I get a sparring buddy or something?"

"Very well Ms. Novia." I wave an arm towards one of the trainers as he joins her in the middle of the gym. She selects a quarter staff, the trainer a sword. The two spar with the intensity expected once the gong goes off. She evades each strike while landing her own quick jabs and whacks with her staff. Everything seems well until she gets hit in the stomach twice by the trainer.

I frown as she curls into a ball, only for that frown to quickly turn upside down as the trainer approaches the girl- only for him to be swiped off his feet and for her to deliver a stomp to the groin. She appeared to be faking it. _Very good_.

"Um . . . someone get a medic for the young man on the floor there." I murmur, joining my male colleagues as we adjust the crotch of our pants of course, to the smug smiles of the females in the room.

Next, she moves to the parkour maze. Unleashing that energy only Snow Island tributes bring to the table, she bolts from one end of the gym to the other, swinging from loop to loop, pedestal to pedestal, rope to rope, all in great time.

She was akin to a human pinball in the world's biggest machine.

With a back flip, she lands perfectly to applause. Even she seems taken aback by her work. Obviously, she must've put training on a pause back home.

 _"A preliminary score of eight for Rafaela. Her proficiency with speed will do her well in the arena for sure."_

* * *

 ** _District 1_**

* * *

The _real Careers,_ Districts 1 and 2. I find these two Districts to be _extremely_ misguided. Throwing their lives away and _for what?_ No amount of riches could null the pain, as seen with Koller and Silvia.

If I had my way, I'd low score them out of spite . . . but that wouldn't help me out now would it?

"Hello, hello Gamemakers!" Vincent saunters in, his eyes darting to the Vice-President. "Wow, it's the Vice-President! You look _ten times_ better in real life than on television." the boy flirts, as Viondra's cheeks turn a light shade of pink as she waves him off playfully.

For a woman as imposing as her, such gestures are rare from her. It's almost weird to see.

"Mister Barlow, please show us what you bring to the table." I say, nodding as the young man strides towards the simulation room and selects a sword. Effortlessly, he hacks away at each pixel that charges his way. A little thrust there, a downward slash over there . . .

The last dummy that charges his way, however, gets its legs slashed from under it and a sword plunged into its head.

"Stop stop, you're too kind!" the boy scoffs as we applaud his show.

He moves on towards the gel torsos, using poison darts, tipped swords and daggers to showcase the effects it'd have on the body if they came in contact with it. He explains it all very well.

"Even if I were to die or something, they would be following me soon. Even if they escaped, the clock will still _tick tick_ away!"

"Thank you Vincent, you may leave." I wave the boy away.

 _"A nine for Vincent. He shows expert swordsmanship and good knowledge on technicalities such as poison, very uncommon among his line of tributes."_

* * *

"Good afternoon everyone," chimes Luana. "Luana Evison, District 1."

"Good afternoon, Luana." I begin, "Would you like a sparring buddy?"

"Not yet," she says, bounding towards the spears. She takes one, waiting for the go ahead from a trainer as she sets up the simulation. With a nod from the instructor, Luana springs into action, lobbing spear after spear at each dummy with rapid succession. All hits would be kill shots, how she hits the head from such a range makes me wonder about what age she began her regimen. In the end, only one missed shot.

She moves towards the pedestals I had watched her spar on during the first day.

"Two sparring buddies please!" she calls as I oblige, calling for two trainers.

The action that follows is a sight to behold. Luana evades and swipes, leaps and thrusts from platform to platform. Soon, the three of them turn into black flashes at the rate they're going. As the clock signals her time is up, she manages to knock one trainer into the pool of water below. The friction of blocking the next trainers blow pushes Luana back a pedestal or two, leaving a space between the two combatants.

With a handshake for the two trainers and a curtsy towards the spectator box, she's gone.

 _"A ten for Luana. Her proficiency with spears and her sparring skills are admirable. Not to mention her chivalry."_

* * *

 **District 2**

* * *

Merlyn nods towards us, sending a casual wave our way as he moves towards the weapons rack and picks up a harpoon.

"He's not much of a speaker is he?" I prod as Gideon shrugs with indifference.

He goes to work instantly, painting the floors red as his harpoon tears and eviscerates every gel torso he could get his hands on. He even tries the simulation room, only getting stunned once as he makes quick work of the dummies.

Next, he moves to the agility run. Unfortunately, he's no Rafaela, but he's honorary for certain, completing the maze in five minutes compared to Rafaela's two minutes and thirty seconds.

Surprisingly, he tries out the survival station next. With decent success, he sorts the berries correctly, creates a decent snare and builds a fire among other things. Lastly, he appears to chew up a leaf, sticks it onto of the flat end of his harpoon and sticks another blade onto the end- securing it all with twine.

"Excellent work Mr. Edian!" I call after him as he bows at the exit.

"He gets little credit where a lot is due." murmurs Yvette as I send a curt nod her way.

 _"I agree, a ten for Merlyn. Like Vincent, he also shows us what many in his skill range fail to do."_

* * *

"Afternoon," Aliyah says as she strides into the room, stopping at the centre of the gym. "Aliyah Marini, District 2."

"Show us your stuff, Miss Marini."

She gasps and waggles a finger. "Mister Hyperion! Aren't I a little _too young_ for you?"

Taken aback, we all let out a chuckle at her lighthearted joke.

She's prideful, confident, as she marches over to the throwing knives, turns on the simulation and lets them fly. The head, the neck where the trachea would be . . . no appendage was safe from Aliyah's knife throwing, including the crotch, to the dismay of the men and the giggles of the ladies in the room.

The swords, the maces, the tridents, she was proficient with them all. If there was a prime example of a "Career" she was one of many. The simulation room was a cakewalk for her and all the weapons she chose. District 2 indoctrinates their children well so it seems.

She motions for three trainers to spar with as I oblige with gusto, calling for three men to sate Miss Marini's ego.

Expecting a beat down and a furious District 2 female, all of us are surprised when the three men are beaten into submission. One man goes careening into a stand of weapons, one withers on the ground while the other curls into a ball as Aliyah continues to beat him with a sword - a plastic one at that.

With one last kick to the downed trainer she bows and exits with a pep in her step.

Doctors . . . soldiers, mothers and fathers, so many occupations, why choose _this_ of all things? What a waste.

 _"An eleven for Aliyah! A prime example of what a Victor should be. The Masonry District never disappoints."_

* * *

 ** _District 3_**

* * *

"Yes, hello, this is the kitchen, correct? Yes, we'd like the rotisserie pig and the chicken pot stickers."

"Hold the tomato on the pig!" hisses a Gamemaker, "Melchior has trouble with acid."

"Hello? Yeah, please hold the tomato pieces on the pig, thank you. Anything else? I'll ask." I turn towards everyone else. "Would any of you like anything else?"

"A box of Lucky Drags, I seem to have forgotten mine." murmurs Viondra.

"Tonic water!" yells a female Peacekeeper General.

"More fruit!" cries Yvette.

I wave them off. "Yeah, yeah I got it . . ."

* * *

Herrick proves to outclass many males that have graced this gym before him.

He selects a sword, opting for the pixel targets instead of the gel torsos. He sets the bots to passive, to the frowns and dislike of the other Gamemakers.

With a sigh he charges towards the other dummies, slashing the necks of three with a spin attack of sorts. He then attacks a dummy in front of him, decapitating it as he spins around and plunges his sword into the chest of another.

He reminds me of his brother back in '90, a good kid.

"Thank you Mister Argent."

 _"A seven for Herrick. He shows promise unlike many boys before him."_

* * *

Evara opts for a short sword, while making decent cuts and slashes on torsos. None bleed profusely however. She shows decent survival skill knowledge with berries and fishing alongside medical knowledge. She knows her way around gashes, but nothing serious like heavy weapon damage and very little about poison.

She proceeds to the simulation room, preparing herself as a dummy fades into view. It takes three slashes to fully 'kill' it. As the simulation increases in difficulty, she's quickly overwhelmed by the dummies in a matter of minutes. Her cuts were seldom effective to explode much of the dummies she encountered. Her other skills round out this flaw, however.

 _"A five for Evara. Average score, for the average tribute."_

* * *

 ** _District 4_**

* * *

" _Mmmm_ , good afternoon Mister Winderley!" coos Yvette, as the other female Gamemakers rise out of their seats and applaud Kite's entrance, giggling like schoolgirls. The Vice-President seems amused, but she remains seated.

"The boy hasn't even performed yet! _Keep your legs closed._ " I gasp, as the women gasp too. Did I say that out loud?

" _Rude_ much?" says Velora with a huff.

I roll my eyes. "Just think with your brain _please."_ I turn to Kite. "Please Mister Winderely, go ahead with your display."

Kite lets out a laugh. "Good afternoon to you too miss, sirs, Vice-President DeWynter! I shall go ahead now."

He selects a broadsword. The gel torsos are no match for his heavy weapon proficiency, decapitating and eviscerating each dummy he laid his eye on. Even more blood was added onto the floors on top of his cohorts' handiwork.

When it came to the pixel simulation, the boy would kill off two dummies with one wide berth of his swing. I wonder the results if he had live human targets.

"Thank you for the opportunity!"

What opportunity? Exchanging life and potential to be the next generation of your nation for death and a broken family?

"No problem Mister Winderely, you may exit!"

 _"A nine for the polite boy. A broadsword would be perfect in this arena given the stipulations . . ."_

* * *

Skylar seems nervous, unlike many who have come before her. According to the Ministry of Districts' Affairs, District 4 dawdles in training from time to time. She must be on the passive end of the training regimen then.

Her novice skills are showcased with the trident. She does a couple of twirls and swipes at the air. She looks up at us like a puppy does its owner for approval. I give her a polite nod, motioning for her to give us more.

She does the simulation, getting shocked by the dummies multiple times before she shrugs, moving to the dummy as I send a another nod her way. She proceeds to impale and slash at each dummy, drawing little blood.

She seems frustrated at this, hitting harder and harder until even more blood cakes the floors. Finally, using the trident- she knocks over a nearby rack, causing myself along with everyone else to flinch at the metallic ringing the weapons clattering against the floor cause.

At least she understands that our opinion matters and that her score rides on much more than popularity. Unfortunately, this as well as her reaping, proves she's a dog with a lot more bark than bite.

With a sigh, she mutters her goodbye as she begins to storm out the gym.

"Have a good afternoon Miss Barassi!" I wince as the door slams shut.

 _"A seven for Miss Barassi, she seems like the type to grow into the mold."_

* * *

 ** _District 5_**

* * *

Gideon inches towards the balcony, adjusting his glasses. "I've been waiting for this one." he says. "I get a Titus vibe from him."

"His partner seems intriguing as well." hums Viondra. "The Noether family is quite the eccentric bunch. Without them and their experiments, I'm not quite sure how we would be able to diagnose the infirm."

"Well," I motion towards the entrance in which the tributes come in. "We may be in for a treat, who knows."

We all wait, making small talk all the while. From the corner of my eye, Viondra continues to bore into my being with those deep blue eyes of hers. I don't dare glance her way.

After five minutes of waiting, there's a commotion on the training floor. Hand in hand, Valentina and Occo burst into the gym, striding towards the middle of the gym as Claudia chases after them.

"Tributes, this is not how protocol goe-"

"-Claudia, what's going on here?"

"Head Gamemaker, the tributes demand that they perform their sessions together, or none at all."

I frown, remembering the chariot rides and the past three days - noting how attached the two children were to one another.

"Why not, I'm sure the end result will be worth the hassle." says Gideon. Viondra continues to gaze towards the pair below. The other Gamemakers look towards me with inquisitive expressions.

I shrug. "I see no problem in this. Mister Barst, Miss Noether, you may proceed with your showcase!"

They nod, quickly getting to work on some form of barbed mud ball. Valentina creates the mud, while Occo sharpens the sticks. While Valentina assembles the spikes into the clot of mud, Occo swings away at gel torsos with a club.

Setting up a string to hold up the clot, Occo holds the gel dummy in place, moving as Valentina sends the spiked mud ball swinging into the dummy, knocking it off its feet and sending blood splattering in every direction, earning impressed nods from the spectator box.

We clap as the two tributes assemble punji sticks alongside a foliage trap door to fool unsuspecting opponents. They move on to their electrical trap, consisting of long wiring, a steel baton and a panel to keep the electricity flowing. We all rush to the balcony, regardless of the inherent danger involved in such a homemade trap.

"Um, Mister Hyperion, are you sure that's safe enough to warrant a test?" prods Melchior with a slight frown.

I shrug as Gideon rubs his fists together. "I'd hope so." he says with a coy smile.

As soon as Occo and Valentina press their batons onto the conduit, the lights flicker on and off, Vi and Pax let out cautious groans as they fade in and out, the force-field dividing us from the tributes fades as the explosion from the dummy sends a shock-wave through the spectator box.

As the smoke clears, the two tributes stumble out of the gymnasium, their faces black with smoke and their hair blown upwards.

"That was _ten times_ better than the other times we tried it . . ." moans Valentina.

"We'll have to change our algorithm later . . ." mumbles Occo.

 _"Um . . . a nine for the District 5 tributes, there's plenty of opportunity to see their creativity shine!"_

* * *

 ** _District 6_**

* * *

"Yay," cheers Velora, "They've brought the pig, I'm _absolutely_ starving!"

My fellow spectators cheer as the pig is brought in and placed on the display table. Viondra nods curtly at the Avox who gives her the pack of _Lucky Drags_ she had requested. The wine was poured beforehand, but I opt for just the pig alone. Luckily, Viondra doesn't seem too interested in my movements, chatting with Gideon and the military generals.

My mouth stuffed with pig, I turn back towards the balcony to see Orville glancing up at us, his face downcast. My conscious immediately feels bad for the young boy.

I swallow. "Mister Mullen!" I wave towards the boy. " _Please, please_ go on with your performance."

He mumbles an _OK_ before moving onto the survival station. He makes a decent snare here and there, his fishing technique could use some work . . . as is for a urban District, his berries and shrub identification are moderate at best. He tries his luck with a M-2143 plasma pistol, with his targeting a little off. His knife work is decent, the boy needs to be confident in his swipes.

His tree dangling is good, after spending time with Marcia from District 11. His agility is decent too. I dismiss him, waving as he returns my gesture. I frown as everyone else is enamored with food and drink.

All in all, he's a jack of all trades and I respect that. However, his skills as a boy his age often has, is lacking. Then again look at our previous Victors from the past five games.

 _"A four for Orville, like many before him, he falls below average."_

* * *

"Um, excuse me Miss Moscone, you weren't summoned yet, were you!?" I splutter, watching as the girl marches towards the paints.

I overhear the murmurs coming from my colleagues behind me about Miss Moscone's pink scars that splotch her neck. I've heard about her little incident . . . some ruffian in District 6, the " _Detroit Ripper_ " stalks the alleyways, mutilating animals, the homeless and the like. He's still at large, apparently.

It's a shame, although she still looks it, the paleness of her skin makes her akin to a porcelain doll.

"Nope," the girl deadpans, not batting an eyelash in our direction as she continues on her stride towards the paint. "My mentor Silvia says you guys tend to get piss drunk, so it's best to grab your attention before you get smashed."

Viondra must find her presentation to be lacking. "Miss Moscone, surely your parents have taught you better in regards to _manners for your elders_?"

Cveta is unfazed, splattering her arms with various colours. "Listen Lady, I don't give a rat's ass about presentation. I'd like to get this crap over with so I can head back to bed, is that okay with you?"

I smirk inwardly as Viondra's knuckles turn an extra shade of white as she clings onto her chair for dear life. She says nothing, only turning to snap glares at those who dare snicker at Cveta's attitude.

Her camouflage is impeccable, as are some District 6 tributes before her. I suppose painting traffic signs and cars for a living does that for you. She works a weapon, the atatl . . . Some spear launcher, at gel torsos and pixels alike. It's a rather boring and complicated weapon, and my colleagues think so too, as they continue to watch on with disinterest, caring more about the food and drink.

Cveta notices this too, calling for a sparring partner. A lean instructor pads over to the middle of the gymnasium.

The two begin, choosing plastic batons for weapons. She holds her own for the beginning, swiping her baton upwards as the instructor blocks, knocking the weapon out of her hand as he tackles her midsection, bringing the girl to the ground.

She screams bloody murder, clawing at his face and eyes as she kicks and thrashes out of his grasp. With a kick to the groin, the man tumbles back to the floor as she rushes out of the gym, clutching her sides as tears streak down her face.

As my colleagues around me murmur in confusion, I couldn't possibly imagine what she went through. Slicing up a young child like her, it's repugnant . . . just like these games.

 _"A five for Cveta. . ."_

* * *

 ** _District 7_**

* * *

Tamir Acker strides into the gym with a swagger in his step.

"Good afternoon everyone, Tamir Acker, District 7." a cocky smile grows on his lips as some of us return his welcome.

"Go ahead Mr. Acker." I say, dipping a piece of my turkey into some peach sauce, reveling in the taste it brings forth.

He proceeds to the bow and arrows, picking a set as he moves to the pixel targets. His skill is . . . junior at best. He's not quick enough to take down his target, as they could kill him due to the opening's he'd allow them to have during combat. His bolts sometimes miss the target completely. Most of the confirmed hits wouldn't necessarily kill the target. Maybe if he had poison tipped arrows from a sponsor perhaps.

He moves to the axes, utilizing tomahawks to throw at gel torsos. He does this with better results than the arrows. Him using the axe as an up close melee weapon brings forth results only a District 7 tribute can yield, getting decent chops in.

For the last dummy, he goes for the arms, then the head, decapitating it completely as blood spills forth.

 _"A hard six for Tamir, he showcases moderate skills with archery and axes."_

* * *

 _"_ So . . . We have January, February, March, April and May. That makes five months basically?"

Viondra nods. "Yes, that seems about right." she motions down to her tablet, as the entire room huddles around the Vice-President to see her pictures of the bundle of joy she had welcomed into the world during the final day of the Nintey-Fourth Victory Tour. Matilda Frances DeWynter.

" _OOooooh_ , look at the little ankle-biter!"

"OH MY GOSH SHE'S SO CUTE!"

"Look at her _hairrrrrrr_ , she already has a full mop!"

I'm surprised she didn't name her _Matilda Frances Rose._ Then again, I couldn't imagine such a vindictive, conniving woman becoming a mother of all things on top of a cutthroat politician and Peacekeeper. I highly doubt she had a procedure to procure Matilda.

Yes yes, Viondra DeWynter and Attorney General Antonius Rose are rather close . . . I've witnessed the subtle gropes and innuendo's they'd share through numerous parties and the Presidential Mansion.

"I'm due in September. How _do_ you do it, being Vice-President and all?" asks Pearlana.

"My mother and an army of Avox nannies on top of my brothers and sisters." smiles Viondra. "Although maternity leave has given me enough time t-"

"HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, can you guys quiet the fuck down for a second!?"

We all peer down towards the centre of the gym, where Landry Danton stands with her arms folded, her foot tapping impatiently against the concrete floor. My colleagues murmur in discontent at her brash attitude.

"I beg your pardon Miss Danton!?" I exclaim incredulously, holding back my laughter as Viondra casts a gaze towards the outspoken child below her. Gideon just smiles, his dossier open and his demeanor eager. I suppose he was aware she was here all this time.

"You heard me, you _mosswipe_ ," she scoffs as I roll my eyes, strutting towards the knives. "Babies are born every day, _congrat-u-lations!_ Now sit down, _shut up,_ quit stuffing your fat faces and watch me do my stuff, okay? You can get piss drunk after."

Surprisingly, to little mutters of shock and disgust, my colleagues take their seats. A _mosswipe_? She's got a pair on her for sure.

"See, was that so hard?" Landry smiles, as she begins tossing knives towards pixelated targets. I'm not sure how she does it, but her skills are on par of that of a District 4 or Snow Island Career, some miss, while some would be considered critical kill shots. The gel torsos reflect this, as all her knives hit the upper chest. Her agility run is better than Meryln's at three minutes, and her skills with an axe are better than Tamir's, the gel torso's were reduced to the chips that litter the mills of the district she hails from.

"Thank _youuuuuuuuu_ , you've been great!" she cooes with a faux edge to her voice, as she slams her axe into the head of a gel torso.

"I like her, I've always enjoyed outliers with a little _fire_ to them, always makes a good show." Gideon smiles, watching as the girl struts toward the exit.

"Or _maybe_ you're just biased because her mentor Celosia is a close colleague of yours." I snipe playfully.

Gideon and I exchange a hearty laugh as the others murmur their dislike of young Landry. If I were as stuck up as them, she'd earn a big fat _zero._ I'm not the others, however.

 _"A seven for Landry Danton, she shows the highest potential for the outlier females so far."_

* * *

 ** _District 8_**

* * *

 _How lucky can one guy be_  
 _I kissed her and she kissed me_  
 _Like the fella once said,_  
 _Ain't that a kick in the head?_

"Gideon, would you be a gentleman?" drawls Viondra as she leans in towards him, cigarette in mouth.

"Well of course Viondra," the elder man smirks, brandishing a monogrammed lighter from his jacket. " _Gentleman_ is my middle name."

President Kane's senior advisor lights Viondra's _Lucky Drag_ , which is secured in a thin, black holder hanging between her fingers as she takes a heave. Gently bobbing my head along to the music, I take a drag of my own, placing it in the ash tray beside me as I swirl the vodka in my goblet, deciding that Viondra didn't spike it.

"Is that Cornelius Lombardi's _Ain't That A Kick In The Head?_ I love that song." calls the boy below us.

Gideon peers downward. "Is that so, boy? Then you have proper tastes. Better than the rock n' roll all the youths are listening too."

"James Pullo?" I say as he nods. "You may begin your session!"

He jogs over to the weapons, choosing a Luger as he unloads on a pixelated target or two. Anyone could use a firearm, so we regard it less. His form is amateur, as is expected. His hesitance with the handling of his handgun allows for his opponent to act quickly, which is a substantial negative.

He must hail from a more residential area within District 8, as his wilderness skills are good, utilizing herbs and shrubs as he explains their importance, as well as their names. His skills with berries are on par with those of the lower Districts, as well as his snares, catching a rabbit an instructor let go onto it.

As the rabbit squeals and bucks its legs wildly, James contemplates on killing the rodent- his knife brandished in his hand. After a minute's hesitance, he decides to place the knife back on its stand, bowing as he leaves the gym, his proverbial tail tucked between his legs as he strides away.

The rabbit could, _or could not_ , be an indicator of his hesitance to do what one needs to do to survive. I don't blame him, _but I do pity him._

 _"A five for Mister Pullo. Good skills for a highly urban district."_

Gideon brandishes another bottle of wine.

"What year?" I inquire.

" _2021_ . . . back during a time when _Donald Trump_ was our first president and most of the country was a smoldering nuclear _wasteland._ "

"One hundred and thirty-seven years . . . _Snow_ , I'm surprised they had time to make wine during that period."

"Here's hoping we don't incur _radiation poisoning_." chides Gideon. The room lets out a cheer as he pops the cork on the archaic bottle.

* * *

"Hello everyone, how are you today?" chimes Adele as she bounds over to the centre of the gym.

"Goooood!" Vontavius replies, sauced out of his mind already.

She raises an eyebrow, nodding steadily as I motion for her to begin.

She moves towards the survival stations, and like her partner, she shows amazing prowess when it comes to greens and shrubs. She utilizes the sorting machine to perfection, clearly separating the poisonous from the mild. She creates a salve from a mash of five berries to treat an open wound on a gel torso, causing the salve to stick to the body like tape to paper. She performs the same thing with leaves, using the shrubs as a large gauze pad for an open wound. Her snares are satisfactory and her fire making is decent.

In terms of combat, her skills with throwing knives could use some work. Her efforts in utilizing a knife by traditional means are fair.

 _"A six for Miss Havillard! She, like her partner, has a unique skill set that could be of use depending on how she plays her cards."_

 _"_ I don't know if it's all the radiation, Gideon, but this wine is absolutely _divine_ . . ."

* * *

 ** _District 9_**

* * *

"Why no more hunger games, siiir?" slurs Melchior as he staggers over to my seat. "Wha-what are we going to do? Gamemaking is my life's dream!"

"I don't know, boy." I mutter, forcing him to take a seat beside me. I frown as the young man slumps to his right. Everyone else, besides the Peacekeeepers and Viondra are in some state of sluggishness. Hell, I'm halfway there myself. If not me, then no one will record the scores correctly.

"President Kane _sucks_ ; can't we just vote him out?" Melchior whines. I groan as his loose mouth gains the eyes of some Peacekeeper generals- the _'For Snow and country'_ types.

A drunken man's words are a sober one's thoughts? " _Shush boy,_ Mister Upton from District 9 is here."

Mentan sends a sheepish wave my way, striding towards the knives and daggers as he begins to showcase his skills on the newly replenished gel torsos. His form is satisfactory, his confidence in his strikes are less than stellar, but his demeanor tells me he understands the seriousness of his situation. He proceeds to do something peculiar, picking up the torsos and tossing them to the best of his ability. In the eyes of a Gamemaker, he looks silly. This shows as my colleagues begin to guffaw at the boy. A glare from me stops their giggling in its tracks.

"Mister Upton . . . may I ask what are you doing?" I say pointedly, massaging my temples as he places a torso back on its stand.

"Umm, trying to show off my close quarters skills?" he grumbles. I don't blame him for his lack of _'education'_. Instead, I call for a instructor to spar with the boy.

His sparring skills are less than stellar, as the instructor lands multiple death blows on the young lad. Mentan gets a few slashes in, however. I hope for his welfare in the arena, as kids like himself and Orville, they'll need all the development one needs.

" _A four for Mentan._ "

* * *

"This dessert is amazing." moans Yvette, her cheeks puffed like a chipmunk due to all the chocolate she wolfed down.

"I concur, Yvette." I smile, taking a bite out of my nanaimo bar.

The room picked up in activity again following the pig we just ate, as dessert was just delivered. The sugar mixed in with alcohol seems to bring out the socialite in everyone, as various groups appear to be engaged in conversation as we await the next tribute.

" _EXCUSE ME!?_ " a amplified voice bellows from below.

Sucking my teeth, I groan, setting my nanaimo bar on the table beside me as my cohorts and I peer down towards the centre of the gym. Rianne, handing back a megaphone to a smiling Avox, sends a soft smile our way as the other Gamemakers saunter towards the balcony.

"I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen. I'm ready to go ahead with my session now, and I'd like it if you paid full attention to Me." she mews.

She smiles as I nod in understanding. Not having a victor under her belt for mentorship must be demoralizing. Due to President Snow and his micromanagement, a grand majority of the victors were killed pre '75. It seems that District 9 unfortunately didn't recover from the purge.

"Go ahead Miss Verano."

"Thank you Mister Hyperion, I'll go ahead now." she jogs to the berry quiz. Out of all the tributes so far, her skills are perfect across the board. Her identification and utilization of the plants and shrubs in her possession are what I come to expect from field district tributes.

Her weapon skills are on par to that of Daniel Bernhardt, I see that Sindy Wellington has more _brains than beauty_ after all. She's not sheepish like most outer district girls when it comes to striking her target like she means it. Like the Careers, she draws plenty of blood from her chops with the sickle she uses, severing arms, necks, legs and midsections.

Even Claudia seems impressed by the girl's skills, smiling from the sidelines as the girl goes to work on a torso.

After a tryout in the simulation room, where she receives some stuns from the pixel dummies but overall performs above average, her time is up.

"Thank you for your attention, I truly appreciate it." she smiles at the light applause she receives.

"Thank you, Miss Verano!" I say as she takes her exit. I like her, spectating her actions throughout these past days, she knows what's expected of her. She tries to baton down all her hatches.

 _"A seven for Miss Verano. She showcases above average skills. I believe the arena will be a decent fit for a girl like her."_

* * *

 ** _District 10_**

* * *

"Hello, hello Gamemakers." drawls Tybalt as he strides past the centre of the gym, towards the serrated blades.

"A man who gets right to it, I like that." calls Gideon as Tybalt flashes a cocky grin.

"I know that your time is precious." the boy says, dipping his serrated sword in poison. He proceeds to hack away at gel torsos, once cut, the fluid in the dummy would turn from a blood red, to a black or purple- replicating the poison that begins to seep into their systems from the infected blade the boy uses. His use of the sword is efficient and his demeanor is extremely confident.

From there, he showcases his agility in the gauntlet. He performed on par with Merlyn's five minutes.

With a final decapitation, he sets down his sword and bows. A smirk appears on his face again as some of us offer applause.

 _"An eight for Tybalt, very good showcase of poison, and his swordsmanship is above average. If only we called him for Nicolao."_

Viondra and Gideon alongside their military entourage take their leave, citing a vote on a national security bill. Some men in the room gawk as the Vice-President saunters towards the doorway. For a woman of forty or so years, she's still got that young woman charm to her figure.

With one last glance at me, she smirks, and then leaves as the doors slide closed. The room now feels ten times bigger, my life no longer threatened by her presence.

* * *

I barely noticed Miss Castro sauntering into the gym due to the transition. Some of my Gamemakers seem to be dozing off . . . luckily we have video footage of the training.

"Hello Miss Castro, thank you for waiting, please go ahead."

She makes an attempt at the survival station, making a fire as she prepares meat on a stick and garnishing it with only the herbs on hand. Judging by the piece an Avox brings up to me, she's as District 10 as District 10 citizens come. Her reaping was quite unfortunate. She would've made a great wife or whatever she was planning on doing with her life before the reap.

She brews tea, utilizing berry juice and leaves. One tea was for digestive and health purposes, while the other was a sweet morale booster.

She does the agility, not as good as her opponents do however. Her knife and sword skills are below average, but it's enough for now.

"Thank you sir," she smiles, placing the sword down as she exits.

" . . . WAKE UP!" my cohorts yelp in surprise at the raising of my voice. "We're almost done. Pearlana, please order some coffee and tea for us."

 _"A five for Miss Castro. I was expecting less effort from a tribute who cried her way to the stage . . . promising."_

* * *

 ** _District 11_**

* * *

"Cian Landon," I say, smiling as the boy casts a glance towards the VIP box. "I've heard a lot about you."

He frowns. "My family just did what they had to sir. I'm pretty sure every outer district kids parent had something to do in the war one way or another."

I raise an eyebrow. "Do you think they were right to take up arms against the Capitol?"

He looks at me as if I had asked the most ridiculous question known to man. "I think that answer is obvious, no?" he says flatly, to the murmurs of shock from the other Gamemakers.

I smile. His mentor, Clarence, is nothing but a blind parrot to a government that cares less about the lower middle class people who inhabit District 11. Cian is right, his parents fought for what they believed in.

Too bad it wasn't enough to push us over the top.

"Understood Mister Landon, please go ahead with your session."

He starts with the small stuff. Barely anyone is paying attention to his plant identification skills or any other field skill like that. We've already established a boy from District 11 would be proficient in said skills.

Like every year, everyone's interest peaks when a tribute selects a bow, Cian is no different.

"Don't shoot that arrow over here, boy!" Vontavius calls out as the others howl with laughter.

"I don't plan on it sir." replies Cian with a hesitant chuckle. He starts with the gel torsos, using two bolts, sometimes three at a time to 'kill' his targets. During his three days, he's picked up on the archery skill very well. When it comes to the moving pixel targets, he performs well, 'killing' a few, while wounding others, missing one or two bolts.

After a couple of swings with his machete, his time was up.

 _"An eight for the young man, impeccable bow skills, above average machete skills. The arena could favor a boy like him."_

"He deserves nothing but a _zero_!" hisses Yvette.

"District 11 is highly stubborn . . . they don't know when to submit do they?" mumbles Melchior as he soothes his head with a ice pack.

"Maybe we should send the Peacekeepers on them again." adds Velora.

"Quiet you three!"

* * *

"Hi everyone, I'm Marcia Mata, District 11!" Marcia cheers, waving towards the box as some of us are polite enough to humor the girl with a wave back. The girls eat her up, chatting amiably about the young girl as if she were Viondra's infant or something. The girl is young, but not _that young_. Many in the Capitol seem to forget this.

"Look who it is, the singer!" I say, smiling as the girl's pale cheeks turn a bright pink. My heart always sinks for the tweenage girls. I wonder how it must feel . . . a child going up against young adults.

"Please 'Cia, show us what you can."

"Okay sir, I'll see what I can do for you."

"See what you can do for yourself, _Miss_ Mata." I chide gently.

She cranes her head to the side, akin to a confused dog. She nods slowly, bounding over to the survival sections. She makes tea, builds a great fire, handles a fishing rod well, and identifies all the plants, herbs and berries, telling us the Latin names and their specific uses.

Her agility is amazing, thirty seconds slower than Rafaela. Her tree climbing is the best out of the twenty-six tributes as of yet. She's comparable to a monkey, the way she swings from branch to branch. Her hammock skills are good as well.

She tries shooting a pistol, but instead flies off her seat as the gun is far too powerful for her to handle. This earns a sheepish chuckle from the girl, as the other Gamemakers laugh at her expense.

She uses a knife with some effectiveness, and a spear with even less, as she spars with an instructor who manages to land a critical blow each time. By the end of it, the poor child looks as if she were about to cry. She's tried her best, but her best isn't all that great. She waves her goodbye as she exits the gym.

Survival does mean something yes . . . but this year, I think its safe to say that one would need to fight as if they were fighting a war. There won't be any leeway.

Will she be ready? I don't think so, but I hope so for her sake, and Orville's sake.

 _"A four for Miss Mata. Unlike these past four years, I wonder how this arena will fare for the younger ones."_

* * *

 ** _District 12_**

* * *

Here comes the peculiar boy . . . I sip my tea as he slowly makes his way into the gymnasium.

He looks like he's having an episode again. His posture looks like that of Orville, Mentan or Marcia's, very skittish and childish in the way that he hunches his back and caresses his knuckles. His eyes are droopy with fatigue as he comes to a stop in the middle of the gymnasium.

"I never pegged District 12 to be a loony district . . ." says a junior Gamemaker.

"I thought that title always went to five, six or three." adds Pearlana.

" _Quiet_ ," I snap, sighing as I focus my attention back on Mister Matisse. "Hello Jai, are you ready to perform?"

"Hello Head Gamemaker Mayfair. I am Graelyn Nash, District 12." his monotone voice drones.

As he says this, the spectator box is awash with confused murmurs. Pelagius Mayfair and Graelyn Nash? I'm not quite aware of a Nash, but I do know a Pelagius Mayfair.

"Erm . . . Mister Matisse, Head Gamemaker Mayfair was in office _nineteen_ years ago. You were just a newborn I would assume. We're at ninety-five now, not seventy-six."

"Huh, what do you mean?" Jai mutters, giving his head a good shake. "Oh, whoops, sorry! I'm not feeling quite well right now . . ."

I exchange glances with my fellow Gamemakers. " . . . _Right._ Mister Matisse, please go on with your session."

He nods, and just like the boy I've been watching with Miss Reiss, he springs into action. My handler in Australia was smitten by the boy . . . President Kane was a tough nut to crack by allowing rifles and handguns into the training centre, but Jai seems to handle them quite well. He's quick with his shots and cooling flushes. The pixel targets were easily dispatched by well placed bursts.

His skills with the bayonet are comparable to Peacekeepers, as he jabs at the chests at each torso he confronts. However, he knows that we don't regard firearms as substantial, so he shows off his knife skills. Like his bayonet, he's just as quick with a knife. His physical strength is top notch, he probably works the mines part time.

When it comes to survival, he pulls all his tasks off with aplomb, easily being ranked the best of the twenty six tributes when it comes to outdoor field skills.

 _"An eight for Mister Matisse . . . he's an odd boy, but very well rounded as a tribute."_

* * *

"Well . . . here we are, tribute _twenty-six_!" I say, raising my cup of tea for an Avox to replenish. "I'm happy that you guys haven't crashed yet."

I received tired mutters and coughs in return. Everyone perks up as Miss Reiss enters the gymnasium.

"Good afternoon Mister Hyperion, other Gamemakers." Lumina smiles as she stops in the centre of the gym and does a curtsy. "Lumina Reiss, District 12. I'm delighted to meet you all."

"I am delighted to meet you too, Miss Reiss. I assume you're acquainted with all the equipment in this gym?"

"Well of course sir. _Reiss Industries_ does supply you after all." she tuts, striding over to the crossbows and selecting a single fire version. She shoots quick and with very little delay in her reloads. She obviously tested out her father's weaponry before. The gel torsos are no match for her bolts, as she decimates each and every one of them with well placed shots to the chest, neck and head.

She shows off her versatility by affixing a bayonet on top of her crossbow, using it to melee her targets. In addition, she uses a knife and short sword with above average results. She ends her session with survival skills, performing in lesser regard to Jai's skills. Overall, she wasn't bad for an immigrant to District 12.

"Thank you for watching." she bows, smiling at the generous applause she receives in return.

 _"Thank you, Miss Reiss. An eight for Lumina, she's a jack of all trades."_

 _That's that_. We have a rather well rounded group of tributes this year. Their skill set will serve them well in this arena. They'll need every ounce of of their conventional strength and personal conviction to come out on top.

Are they ready? I suppose, they'll _need_ to be. _Competence is key, without it, they've already lost._

"Okay," I arise out of my seat as my colleagues let out cheers of relief. "Thank you all for your mostly undivided attention. We'll reconvene tomorrow at the ministry of propaganda tower to go over the scores once again! Until then, rest easy."

* * *

 _"Confirmation response: Omega-Nine-Four-Gamma-Banshee."_

I smile as the rugged, militaristic features of Australia's President appear on screen. President Matthews does look the part of a conventional politician for sure. Clad in military fatigues and riddled with cybernetic prosthesis, he and his nation serve as the only beacon for democracy- the democracy Panem tried to fight for, but failed to establish almost twenty years ago. They too almost came to Panem's aid during those troubling times, District 13 had established a connection with them, but alas, the tables turned.

"Where is Antipatros?" I ask. "Was he caught by Peacekeepers, is he _alright_?"

"No, no. Nothing of the sort my friend." Matthews smiles. "He's on his way to the land down under. He's in good hands." replies the President as I blow out a sigh of relief. _Good, very good._

"How are _you_ Vernon? Did they execute the spies yet?" he smiles as my birth name nearly goes over my head.

 _Vitus "Vernon" Nordstrum._ _Thames Hyperion_ is just a pseudonym, very few are aware of this, since the Second Rebellion, records have always been a tad spotty.

"No, not until after the interviews." I say as his face darkens with anguish.

"They'll be remembered, they're on the right side of history, and I know this."

I murmur in agreement. "Other than that, things are well Matthews; we had just wrapped up our private sessions for the tributes." I tap a couple keys here and there. "You should be getting a copy of said footage . . . _now."_

A notification sound chimes on his end of the line. "Data received, thank you my friend. Let the world see the atrocities this government promulgates."

I nod. If Panem can't be free, then I shall let the remains of the world at large be aware of what has come to a nation that once shined so bright, reduced now to a shell of its former self.


	17. Interviews! Pt One

_**Haus Der** **Toten; The 95th Hunger Games**_  
 _ **Interviews! Part One.**_

* * *

 _ **A spot at the interview hall is highly coveted, housing enough seats for a thousand or two patrons. You could expect the auditorium to be filled to the brim with Victors, Escorts, Capitol fat-cats, politicians and socialites alongside their spoiled children.**_

 _ **You would be stupid to screw up your interview in an attempt to virtue signal or rally against ideas that were squashed in now two civil wars. Sit up straight and turn that frown upside down- your life could very well depend on their money!**_

* * *

 _ **Marceline Devereaux, 59,  
Master of Ceremonies**_

* * *

" _Welp_ , here we are!" I trill, spreading my stance as my Avox- Cora, adjusts a few details here and there on my suit. "Interview day is _today_."

Tonight was the night that would be on the tongues of _millions._

On the holovision in the top corner, Hermes Landcaster from _PBC_ prattles on about the tribute scores with fellow panel members as a countdown clock for the interviews continues to tick away on the left hand side of the screen. The camera pans to the crowd which as per usual, numbers in the thousands lucky enough to get seating.

 _Yes yes_ , things were looking up to be an exciting evening for sure!

I could see it now _, hundreds upon hundreds_ of news articles based on who was wearing what, which tribute said this, so on and so forth. As is custom, I wouldn't be surprised if the fashion lines of the stylists this year are sold out by the time the interviews are up!

It wasn't _just_ the fashion that continues to drive me wild. The tributes and the personalities they bring with them are always a treat.

After five years and dozens of tributes coming and going, it was always interesting to get their views on life, learning a bit about them in the process. They always seemed to have their own personal story and the special quirks that come along with it - differentiating each tribute to a tee.

They say I'm akin to Caesar Flickerman, with a more . . . _paternal_ touch to my angle. Some say I'm on par with a shrink! I suppose that's true, as I believe every tribute under my watch is unique. It's only fair I ease them through the last stretch before the pods rise up. It quells their doubts, makes them more resolute in their motives and feelings.

Cora backs away after tugging on my pant leg, a sheepish smile on her face as she steps away from the mirror for me to see. The stylists and I decide to go for a "bold" look this year, judging by the internal memo floating about regarding the arena this year. It appears a jet black shirt; crimson suit with the blazer having an over-sized left lapel notched with black accents and black and white oxfords is the outfit I'm rocking tonight.

 _Thank you Mario Falconi for your wonderful, wonderful fashion talents!_

It reminds me of _blood_ , and judging by the internal documents, there will be _lots_ of it!

"Cora darling," I turn towards the girl. "How do I look?"

Her lips are twitched into some sort of confused expression as she sends two thumbs up my way. Why are Avoxes always so _mousy_? Their mannerisms are quite entertaining to watch. Someone should make a TV show out of it.

I grin. "Good, good. I think I look pretty _dashing_ myself."

 _"Five minutes until show time ladies and gentlemen, prepare!"_ yells Fitzpatrick, my stage manager as he barges into my room without inhibition. Young, vibrant, effeminate . . . his outlandish personality helps keep even the most frayed of our interns calm. Behind the scenes would be a mess if it weren't for him acting as the glue that keeps our team strong.

His face melts as he glances in my direction. "Marceline darling, you look _absolutely fabulous._ Mario has really outdone himself. _Come come_ , we must get you to the stage, the show is about to begin!"

I nod, gesturing towards the door as I plop a gum in my mouth. "Lead the way Fitzy!"

Interns rush to and fro as Fitzy and I stride towards the main stage with Cora sheepishly at our heels. A few of them stand to the side and cheer me on, I manage to shake a few hands and kiss a couple cheeks here and there as we power on. We cross the second floor of the foyer just before the stage. Below me, the tributes can be seen milling about at the bar, decked in their finest outfits.

Look at them mingle. Tonight will be all about _you_. I shall make you all _shine, shine, shine._

* * *

 ** _"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to The Marceline Devereaux Show! With your Master of Ceremonies-  
Marcelinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnne Devereaux!"_**

 ** _Brought to you by Miss Pristine- Panem's #1 choice in household cleaning products!_**

I slide down the grand steps, plugging my ears from roaring applause the audience launches my way. The stage is furnished like a living room catalog, one large desk for yours truly, and a comfy black leather sofa for the tributes supported by an array of other trendy furniture pieces.

"Easy, _easy_ you guys!" I wave off their cheers, but they still come regardless.

The bloodshed is so very near, I don't blame their eagerness! After three minutes of overwhelming cheers, I wipe a faux sheen of sweat off my brow, prompting the audience to laugh.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Snow, there's _thousands_ of people here. What I notice the most during my past five years as host, is how muted the fashion is since the Second Rebellion. Materials were rationed, giving us less to work with when it came to choice. Slim suits, ties and pocket squares alongside pillbox hats and pearl necklaces replaced the wigs and corsets of old. We've become much more conservative and elegant, less flashy.

When I mean less, I mean by a _minuscule amount._

"Hello citizens of Panem, welcome welcome to the _Nintey-Fourth Annual Hunger Games!_ **_ARE YOU EXCITED_**?!"

They return my question with a deafening roar. "Good, I'm _glad_ you're excited! We'll see all the tributes you've been eager to get to know in a little bit more. Before we begin, a few opening orders for the evening!"

"As you may know, we had a sweepstakes concerning our post-secondary institutions! Dozens of colleges and universities throughout Capitol City have applied to our contest to see who could score a seat for them and their friends! And so, here are the winners!"

I point towards a section of the crowd, filled with young men and women clad in white military dress uniforms. "Please welcome _Northpoint Military College_! Oh how _I loooove_ my men and women in uniform!"

The young cadets of Northpoint roar out a stunning "OOO-RAH!" as the crowd applauds.

"We also have with us, _my alma mater_ \- the _University Of Panem_ \- Goooooooo Sentinels!"

The gold and crimson clad youths in their skirts, slacks and cardigans let out a chant as the bravest out of them all sprints to the stage and pats on it a couple of times before darting back to his seat.

" _Alright_ , and our last university is the _Panem Institute of Technology!_ " I frown as they let out a sheepish cheer. "Wow, you guys have no spirit . . ." more laughs from themselves and the audience.

"Lastly, please welcome our Victors and Escorts this evening!" I beam as the camera pans across the entire row of our nation's _finest_ champions and their helpers.

The crowd roars with applause as Joyceta and Francisco stick their tongues out, alongside the other youthful nineties Victors who wave amiably. The older Career mentors smile pridefully, alongside Captain Onassis of Snow Island. Silvia and Koller- possibly high like kites, cackle among themselves while the others wave politely. Fitting to Capitol persona, the escorts are just as giddy as the audience, jostling each other's shoulders as they laugh among themselves.

"Alright! With all that out of the way, let's move on to our tributes! Within this next hour our two, we'll meet all twenty-six of our contestants. Once you're all emotionally attached, we'll _ship them off to the slaughter until one remains!_ "

* * *

 ** _Snow Island_**

* * *

 _"_ Tonight, we start with Isla Nieve- Snow Island!" I say, to the wild cheers of the audience. "Please welcome our first tribute of the night, Rafaela Novia!"

Rafaela strides across the stage, wearing a royal blue romper with polka dots that accentuates her tanned skin and grey eyes. The romper is paired with black flats. Her brunette hair is straightened and the bangs swept to the side. The men howl like the wolves they are when they see a female tribute dressed the way she is. She answers the cat calls with gusto, waving and winking towards the audience.

She takes a seat, her ruby red lips perked into a smile as the crowd continues to chant her name. With a friendly wave, the crowd instantly dies down.

"You see, Rafaela has _quite_ the history, well, at least her _family_ does." I say, shaking her hand as the crowd murmurs in confusion.

"I'm sure some of the older folks know who . . . _'El Gallo'_ is, right?" the crowd becomes washed with shock, as Rafaela frowns slightly.

"For those of you who don't know, Rocco _'The Rooster'_ Novia is the father of our tribute here tonight, alongside her uncle Sandro _"Sandy Boy"_ Novia. They so happen to be the biggest mobsters in Snow Island's history! Unfortunately, he, alongside most of his cohorts, met his end in a ferocious _gang battle_."

The crowd mews out an ' _awww_ ' as Rafaela keeps her composure. Word on the street from my sources in the Peacekeeper garrison back on Isla Nieve is that Rafaela is quite the . . . _"procurer"_ like her father was. Heck, the young woman even had a drug ring of her own! Like father, like daughter I guess. For her sake, _and the favour called in by Captain Onassis and Melanie,_ I'll stay within the realms of the games and the positives of her family.

"You know what they say, revenge is a dish best served cold." she says flatly.

"I suppose Rafaela, but leaving a child such as you without parents is a little _too much_ for myself. If it means anything, you have my _utmost_ condolences."

"Thank you Señorita Devereaux, I appreciate it." the crowd applauds again as I rub the child's back.

"So, Miss Novia, is it safe to say that you got the _resourcefulness_ of your father in your genes as well?" I saw, ebbing my way back behind my desk.

"Of course Marceline, Papa always told me I was apple of his eye. _I miss him,_ my uncle and my mother." the crowd lets out another mew of compassion.

"I can see that, Rafaela. That eight you got in training only _confirms_ it." I remark. "Do you care to say some words on your score, _also also_! A little birdy told me you're no longer a Career? Why is that?"

"Well," the girl begins, "I've always been the ' _give em' hell_ ' type of girl, my score is just a reflection of my dedication to the task at hand. As for the other Careers, I follow the beat of my own drum. I'm a tough cookie; I don't need a coveted 'Career pack' to forge a path of my own." she states as the crowd sends an approving murmur her way.

"Miss independent, I like that. Well, I wish you _good luck_ Ms. Novia, I look forward to seeing you in the arena."

I kiss her hand, raising it into the hair as the audience applauds. "Rafaela Novia, everyone! Thank you Miss Novia, you may exit."

* * *

"Here he is, our jester boy, Nicolao Lucritus!"

Keeping with the casual nature of Snow Island tributes and Rafaela before him, the boy wears a royal blue tennis shirt, white slacks and black loafers with a black belt to accessorize.

"Please Marceline, call me Nic." Nicolao shakes my hand as he takes a seat over the applause sent his way.

"I've always wondered this about Snow Island tributes. How does it feel to be on the mainland, you're a _territory of Panem,_ it must feel weird, no?"

"Don't get me started Marceline!" the crowd laughs once again. "We took a hovercraft here instead of a train. It's _very_ cold here as well . . . I prefer the sunshine. You know what else, Marceline?"

"What's that, Mister Lucritus?"

"Why do you guys name your cars weirdly? We've had the same cars you guys just remade, for over _two hundred years._ A Cadillac Eldorado is a . . . _Zip! Starfire_ , a Maserati is a _Zip! Barracuda_ , your Chevrolet and Fords are all mixed up, it's weird."

I raise an eyebrow as the crowd howls along with laughter. "That's a very good question . . . maybe because those companies amalgamated into _Zip!_ now. Don't forget Buick is now _'Regal'_ and PMC- _Panemian Motor Company_ is Dodge, Lincoln and other car companies."

"Hmph, weird stuff." he mutters, to the slight chuckles of the audience.

"Yes, weird _indeed_. So . . . _Nic_ , what exactly do you do on Snow Island?"

"Well, on _occasion_ I work in a dance troupe."

"A dance troupe you say? So, you would do performances for money, et cetera?"

"Yes Ma'am, we weren't exactly famous, or super good at our craft, but the audience loved it."

"I could see why. Your kooky reaping and your chariot rides spell it out for us. I'm assuming that your training score incorporated some of that . . . _dramatic flair_?"

Nic sends a playful shrug my way. "I would be lying if I said no." he says as the crowd lets out a laugh, me included.

"Why did you volunteer, might I ask?"

"Well Marceline, Snow Island is a violent place for a regular kid like myself. I wanted to get away from the life of crime, never to worry about being sucked deeper into the rhythm. Maybe, I could get my friends out of their binds as well. I have combat experience . . . from doing my troupes, but _still_ experience! How much harder could the Hunger Games be?"

"Hmph." I grunt, "Slightly foolish of a reason, but its plausible!"

"Better to be a witty fool than a _foolish wit_." he chimes.

"Can't argue with that logic," I motion for him to stand as I do too. "Thank you Nic, and good luck to you!"

"Nicolao Lucritus, the male from Snow Island!"

* * *

 ** _District 1_**

* * *

"Now, we've reached District 1- _Luxury_! She's poised, witty; you boys seemed to go _nuts_ for her chariot outfit! Here she is . . . Luana Evison!"

Luana, filled with confidence and grace, strides over to the sofa, wearing a short and sultry puffy teal dress ridden with gemstones. It looks more like lingerie than a dress, but I'm not complaining, _neither is the audience._

"Hello Luana, how are you this evening."

"Hello Marceline, people in the audience!" the crowd cheers. "I am doing _just fine_ , thank you for asking."

"I could see why you're in high spirits this evening. You earned a ten in training, what are your thoughts on that?"

"Well Marceline, I know my stuff when it comes to _spears._ " she smirks as the crowd murmurs with intrigue. "Also, _I don't_ believe in second best, my parents have _smothered_ me in the mantra of striving to be the _best_ that I can be."

"I can get a grip on your personality now- a diligent woman who likes to be at the pinnacle of her potential, _very_ _interesting_." I say, swiveling in my chair. "Would you say that you also expect _others_ to follow in your stead?"

Stunned, Luana raises an eyebrow. " . . . Yes, that seems like a fair observation."

"So how does your need to have _everyone_ on your level translate into your Career pack, which is _or isn't_ doing so well at the moment?"

Luana frowns slightly as the audience murmurs. "What makes you think that, Marceline?"

"Well . . . with Rafaela leaving the pack, there has to be some internal struggle of sorts no? What's your take on those 'struggles' and how does that coincide with your personality, which is _stellar_ might I add."

"Well Marceline, if they're here for me, I'm there for them, I'm ready to do this!" the crowd applauds. "I've spent my whole life waiting for this moment, and I can't let petty squabbles get in the way of working with my pack to dominate this year's arena. If I'm wrong, I'll just have to try and learn and adapt."

"With that ten you garnered, I think you'll adapt just fine, my sweet."

We talk about more subjects, such as her family, her boyfriend Sebastian, her life at school alongside her friends Shirah, Peridot and Sparkle. She's a good girl, she's leaving an awful lot behind if she doesn't pull through.

But isn't everyone leaving something behind? Hmph.

"With a family, district and friends that _adore_ her, she has plenty of inspiration to see to it that she makes it through, give it up for LUANA!"

* * *

Vincent looks rather dapper, with a metallic blue suit, grey, blue and black slimmed tie and a pocket square to go along with it all. The girls go crazy over his chiseled form.

"Okay, okay! Vincent, tell me about yourself?"

" _Sure thing_ Marceline, y'know, I've lived in District 1 all my life. The Hunger Games have always been a thing of splendor and inspiration for me. When I see Victors like Cessna Embraer, Kaiser, Zenira and Glisten alongside Governor Westenfluss, I just feel the urge to be like them, a beacon for my fellow citizens!"

This earns a hearty applause from the audience. The camera pans to the District 1 Victors, who take the praise in stride.

"Yes, District 1 has had quite the pool of Victors these past ninety-five years or so. All of them are _very_ dignified people."

"Then you can see why I volunteered then?"

"I can see part of the reason why? There has to be more than _fame_ , right?"

" _Yeaah,_ I guess." the crowd laughs.

"Well go on, tell us!"

"The Barlow family is one of high achievers. My brother is a prime example of this. He works at _Capitol Minerals_ and has an amazing wife, Carrie, and two amazing babies you just wanna smother."

"I reckon you want his success, as you feel your parents support him more?" I say, the crowd cooing an _'awwww'_ as Vincent playfully waves them off, to their laughs.

"I suppose that's true. He's partially the reason why I volunteered. I want to show my District, my parents and the nation, that I can make achievements that are equal or even better than his." he says as the crowd cheers.

"Well my friend, with that nine in training, you're well on your way!"

"You're damn right I'm on my way!" he rises up, "I know what I have to do, and I won't shy away from it. Put me in that arena and I'll give you a show you won't forget!"

"Oh we'll put you in that arena alright!" I raise his hand in the air as he lets out a cheer. "Vincent Barlow of District 1 everyone!"

* * *

 ** _District 2_**

* * *

"She's got the highest score out of all the tributes in the running right now . . . she's the odds-on favourite to win this thing. She's lean, she's mean, heerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrres Aliyah Marini, our District 2 female!"

Aliyah, the confidence _radiating_ off her being, enters the stage wearing a slate grey jumpsuit with a black belt, earrings and heels. The crowd gobbles her playful waves as this is the loudest they've cheered for a tribute thus far.

"Good evening, Marceline." Aliyah chirps with thin lipped smile.

"Good evening, m'darling. As you can _see and hear_ , the people are _smitten_ with you in many more ways than one." I say as the crowd laughs.

I lean in towards her; she humors me by doing the same. "Do you have a male friend back at home?"

"No, but I have a _female_ friend. Bex is my everything Marceline, I'd do anything for her." this earns playful boos from the men in the audience. Some of the girls in the audience, presumably with the same preference, cheer.

" _QUIET BOYS_ , you have nothing but yourselves to blame for being so much trouble!" the crowd guffaws with laughter, Aliyah chuckles along too.

"Did you know you were placed _first_ in the _Capitol TV_ poll for victor? Who do you thank for such a feat and how'd you score so high?"

"Well," scoffs Aliyah, "I thank none other than my mentor _Zenobia Rivendell_ for being such a driving force these past couple days!" she waves as the camera pans to the 79th Hunger Games Victor. Zenobia boasts a prideful smile, taking the praise in stride.

"As for what I did, I utilized the skills that were instilled in me, strength, patience, fearlessness. If you accentuate your strengths, _nothing but positivity_ will come your way." she beams as the audience applauds.

"I agree very much, Aliyah!" I nod. "So, Aliyah . . . Being the number one ranked tribute to win this thing, that makes you _queen of the castle_! What do you think of the competition this year?"

"Basically, I think its non _-existent._ " she states flatly. "Sure, I have my allies to contend with in the future, but otherwise I'm _not very impressed_ with the picks this year." she drawls in a playful manner, even though she is anything _but._

"In terms of teamwork, I take it you're not a firm believer?"

"The only one who saves me, _is me_." she says pointedly. "I'm doing it for myself and my family. Maybe after I take the crown I can live my life the way I see fit."

"Hmph," I mutter. "A tribute with straightforward goals and _all the resources_ at her disposal to see those goals are met! Ladies and gentlemen, Aliyah Marini of District 2, thank you Aliyah!"

* * *

Merlyn doesn't wave when I introduce him.

Bold and Confident as ever, he wears a black button down shirt with grey slacks and brown shoes with a belt to accessorize. Some would say he was plainly dressed, but the way his muscles bulge, and the way the girls shriek as he fires off a cocky grin their way, his stylist knew _exactly_ what they were doing.

"Good evening, Merlyn." I say, cupping my cheeks as I lean down on my desk.

He nods once, prompting the audience to laugh.

"You're not much of a talker, are you my friend?"

"I'm a man of a few words." more giggles among the spectators.

"And I _respect_ that." I chime. "But a humble young man like yourself has to have been raised by stellar family. Tell me about them?"

"Well . . ." the boy begins. "There's my mother and my father. Mom was always the strong willed one, but she knew when to draw the line. I get my thinker personality from Dad mostly. Clara and Adrian are good friends of mine back in District 2. Unfortunately my grandfather died when I was younger."

I nod with genuine sympathy as the audience mumbles in understanding. "I take it he was a defining force in your life?"

"Of course ma'am, his passing left me hurt and distraught. He's part of the reason why I'm here."

"Please, _please_! Elaborate, my friend."

"Well, Hansel- my grandfather had taught me an awful lot of the things I've come to rely on in life. _Humbleness, restraint, courage_ \- I'm not sure what I'd be personality wise without his guidance. If I take lives, and understood the weight of my actions, maybe I would cope and understand his loss far better than I do now."

The crowd murmurs, and then erupts with light applause.

I nod, his reasoning seems plausible. "I understand your logic. You seem like the type of person, if crowned Victor, would be much more humbled and reflective than most."

"Say, who's your mentor, Miss Zenobia Rivendell?"

"No, Mum is my mentor this year. She reminds me of my grandfather so very much. In fact, they were good friends for many, many years."

My smile beams from ear to ear as the camera pans to the **_one hundred and nine year old_** 3rd Hunger Games Victor, which took place in the year _2066_. I remember her achieve footage. A scrappy girl with a fancy updo and a determined glint in her eyes . . . She has become everyone's grandma over the years, hence the nickname "Mum".

"What a fantastic person to get Hunger Games advice from! Everyone, please send your warm regards to Berglind Jonsdottir, Victor of the Third Hunger Games!" I point towards the centenarian as the crowd gives a stand ovation to the woman. She nods to the audience, waving all the while as her niece; Zenobia plants a kiss on her cheek.

"Listen Merlyn, you're a stand up young man with a good head on your shoulders with a coveted mentor. In addition of your nine in training, I don't know what puts you on the right track. I, alongside your fans, wish you nothing but the best of luck." clutching him by the shoulder, I motion for him to stand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Merlyn Edian of District 2!"

* * *

 ** _District 3_**

* * *

"Alright guys, please put your hands together for Evara Winslett of _District 3_!"

I gesture to the stage entrance as the fifteen year old girl emerges onto the stage with a yellow dress. With a black choker necklace and a thigh high slit, the sultry fabric accentuates _every_ possible curve and asset the young girl may have. For a District 3 female, she receives more applause than normal. If we were _anywhere_ but the Capitol, it'd be inappropriate!

"Thanks everyone for the warm welcome." Evara says as she smiles towards the audience.

"You are most welcome Miss Winslett." I chirp, swiveling in my chair. "So, Evara, something tells me you are unlike _most_ District 3 females that we come across. Tell me about yourself."

" _Welllll,_ I suppose you're right about being slightly different than the others back home." she begins. "I'm not a smarty pants like most people back home. I went to school with Gwendolyn Faraday and Herrick," the crowd cheers as the camera pans to Gwendolyn, who waves sheepishly, her pale skin a flushed pink due to her shyness.

"You do live in the _Manufacturing Settlement Area_ in Salem right?" that's where most of District 3's population lives from what I recall; Salem and Portland are almost as huge as the Capitol is.

"Yes, I live in the MSA. I work part time at a _Panem Biotech_ factory with my parents and my friends Delly and Vella. Other than that, I live like a typical kid!"

"Cartoons on _Saturdays_ and the diner after school...?" I chime knowingly.

" _Exactly_ \- don't forget the parents nagging you at every step of the way." she answers, giggling along with the audience as they break into light applause and cheers.

"But . . ." she relents, "It's kinda tough being put into a situation like this, knowing that there's a very large possibility that you'll never see your parents again. No more family dinners or get together . . . We tend to take family for granted."

I smirk, nodding along as the crowd mews out a soft awwh. "Very well spoken, Miss Winslett, I'll let you know that all tributes, Victors and vanquished, have a role to play in the safeguarding of our nation's future."

The crowd breaks into applause, as a conflicted look spreads across Evara's features. _That's one small bomb defused!_

I motion for them to settle. "We can't disregard all tributes that aren't from Snow Island, 1, 2 and 4 . . . so, regardless of a five in training, what trait makes you more likely for you to come out on top?"

A arrogant smirk spreads across Evara's lips. "I can win. I can win with my deceit and my tenacity. I can blow all these other kids out of the water to make it back home. I can, and I will."

She receives hearty applause. "Someone who isn't afraid to call it like she sees it, I like that in a tribute. Nothing is written in stone _!_ Good luck to you Evara Winslett, female tribute of District 3!"

* * *

"Please welcome Herrick Argent Everyone!" I motion to the spotlight as Mr. Argent strides onto the stage, wearing a _boss_ navy blue knit sweater, brown tie, black slacks and brown shoes. The professional conservative look is here to stay!

" _Gee Herrick_ , like I said during the chariots, you as well look _nothing_ like the District 3 males before you!" I lean in, cupping his cheeks as I go over his handsome features. "Where does a Three get muscles like yours?"

I turn towards the audience. "Girls, how do you like your eggheads, _hard-boiled_?"

They eat it up, guffawing like Vice-President DeWynter's hyena mutts as the boy turns beet red at the cat calls some of the girls in the audience make.

"I work for the _distribution_ department at Panem Biotech, lots of moving boxes, manual labor, typical stuff." he smiles.

"Good, very good- District 3 has churned out a different batch this year. I could imagine Colonel Varro and Miss Doris Mckenzie are instrumental in helping you get the proper rundown?"

The camera pans to the war hero and flapper pop star, the man smirks as Doris takes the praise in stride.

"Yes, all three- Gwen, Tertius and Doris have been very good to me. I thank them for their support!" Herrick says as the crowd cheers.

"I can see they have been very, very good to you. That seven you got and those allies you've procured have set you up very well for the impending storm." I swivel in my chair, my smirk turning into a slight frown.

" . . . Unfortunately, your brother was in the same position, and paid the _ultimate price_ for being in said position."

The crowd murmurs as the jumboscreen beside us showcases the interview of Atari Argent back in '90, Ainsley Tisdayle's year. I feel sorry for the boy, as his face immediately falls from the humble and cheerful look he had prior.

"Atari Argent was a good brother, he spoke of you, mom, dad, Tesla, Chester and Skylar well."

"Yeah, I-I . . . um, miss him very much." I offer an apologetic smile as the boy wipes tears from his eyes. The crowd offers no murmur, just an uneasy silence as the tears turn into slight heaves.

For a split second, I contemplate ending the interview here, but - "The family hasn't been the same without him. We've all been very distant and worried of each other. Look at me now, off to the dark unknown." he turns directly to the camera.

"Mom . . . Dad, Skylar, Chester, my friends. If things don't go the way we want it, I'll miss you and know that I love you no matter what happens . . . okay?"

The crowd lets out a respectful applause, no hyperbole or wild cheering, just straight applause. Even Doris, the Escort of District 3, offers a shoulder rub to Gwendolyn who seems moved by Herrick's words.

"So . . . Herrick," I begin, taking back the tissue box. "What steps will be made to make sure you won't follow in Atarr's steps, allies and all?"

"Well, a wise man once said- ' _He who stands aloof runs the risk of believing himself better than others and misusing his critique of society as an ideology for his private interest.'_ "

I beam from cheek to cheek. "I see you're aware of President General Tyrannous Snow's address to the nation following the bombing of District 13. _Wise words indeed_ . . . maybe you still got a little egghead in you _after all."_

After all the tear-jerking, the crowd doubles over in a good laugh, diluting the overcast that enveloped the room.

 _"Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm closing applause to HERRICK ARGENT- our District 3 male!"_

* * *

 _"Thank you Herrick and Evara, District 1, 2 and Snow Island for your intriguing interviews! We're not even halfway there yet, but we do have an important message to relay on behalf of the Ministry of Districts' Affairs- Civil Defence Secretariat!"_

 _"Here's some food for thought from yours truly! Youths in Panem- aged 23 and younger, account for **seventy percent** of all petty crimes committed after the hours of six o'clock in the evening, even higher as the night goes on!"_

 _"Youths in Panem account for **ten percent** of all homicides in Panem's urban centres due to gang violence and Peacekeeper interactions- that's ten percent too many!"_

 _"Which is why, **The**_ **_Truancy Act of 2022 and The Curfew Act of 2039_** _were implemented to curb mischief of all kinds and to make sure our nations children are safe at home, where they so truly belong."_

 _"As I say this, we are embarking on the 9pm hour in the eastern region of District 11 and all of Districts 6, 8 and 12. At that time, both of these Acts will in effect."_

 _"In fact, its about 9 o'clock now! Parents, do you know where **YOUR** children are?!_

* * *

 ** _District 4_**

* * *

"So kiddies, _stop lounging_ in the streets and go home! If you're watching the interviews at a tavern or a public meeting area, get home safely!" I say with faux-stern expression on my mug, pointing towards the camera with a squint in my left eye and my eyebrows scrunched. The crowd laughs at my display.

"Alright, with that out of the _way,_ our next contestant showed up at the reaping looking too cool for school! Her cousin made _quite_ the ruckus on Reaping Day, here's hoping we get her side of the story! Please _welcommmmmmmmmmme_ Skylar Barassi, female tribute of District 4 to the stage!"

Skylar received fervent applause as she sheepishly strides onto the stage. Her outfit comes in the form of a lacy seafoam green halter neck dress and white belt. She accessorizes with a seashell necklace, bangles and pearl earrings. Her brunette hair is twisted into a waterfall braid so it seems.

The men, being the _horndogs_ that they are, go wild at the girl's entrance.

"Skylar, Skylar, Skylar . . ." I tut.

"Marceline, you remind me of my _mentor_ Marissa when she's about to give me the business." she jeers, causing the audience to titter.

The camera pans back to the Victors and Escorts row. Marissa Lynne sports a knowing smirk on her face, as Abigail Jackson and their Escort Vivienne chuckle along.

"I don't blame her. You're quite the lightning rod here in the Capitol following your little reaping."

"Yeah . . . my cousin Milani is quite the character I know."

"Quite is an understatement, my love. She was swearing up a quite a storm!" more giggles. "So Skylar, what brings you here to the Capitol? Surely something a little bit more than riches?"

"I've always dreamed of being a Victor. Berglind Jonsdottir, Enobaria Golding, Finnick Odair, Kaiser Von Delight, Abigail and Marissa, all the greats! Unfortunately, certain factors got in the way of those pipe dreams . . ."

"Keep goiing, there's morrree . ."

She frowns, shrugging. "I dunno know why I'm here. I was just _sick_ of pretending. Sick of being a nobody. I wanted to be a somebody - I think that's why I wanted to be here. You ask me again now though, and I'd just be lying."

I nod. "Tell me about your life back home and your relatives. There must be a juicy story to behold behind your volunteering that should clear the smoke."

She smiles, frowning as a family photo appears on the jumbotron beside us. Milani seems to be larger than life as we move through each photo. Skylar always took the role as tertiary. Luckily, she is on the _Marceline Devereaux Show_ , however and tonight is _her_ night.

She takes a breath. "Milani's parents- my aunt and uncle, passed away during the hurricane a couple years back-"

"You're seventeen-ish so, Hurricane Persephone?"

"Yeah that one, we have too many hurricanes to count unfortunately. Anyway, Milani has been with us ever since. I love her, she's outgoing, bratty, _a greaser magnet. Whatever_ she did I did. Steal fish from the market, I would do it to. Go across town to fight another chick at another school, I followed." she flashes a smile as the audience giggles.

"I'm just annoyed with her and my parents, is all. I didn't want to say anything to Milani in the event she blackmailed me or hurt me in another way."

I nod in understanding. Relative relations are _always_ taxing. "Go on, my friend."

"Truth be told, I've always been jealous of her overbearing personality. Heh, _Snow,_ it even seems like my own damn parents prefer her over me. I'm their _daughter_ , and they just toss me aside like I'm an afterthought, a _nobody._ I've been dwelling on this for weeks prior to all this. Constantly thinking and stressing. Not just to escape Milani's shadow, but to escape my own mediocrity."

"Well how fortunate for you, my friend! If you make it out of this, we here at the Capitol are _masters_ at turning coals into diamonds. Am I right folks!?" I let out a cackle as the audience follows my lead.

"Now that I'm here, I feel liberated but incomplete." she shrugs.

" _So,_ Skylar comes to us as a wayward child without an identity of her own! With a seven in training and a goal to make something more out of her life, there's plenty of room to grow once the gong goes off. Will she have enough conviction to prevail? all will be revealed soon!" I gently take the girl by the hand.

"Skylar Barassi, our female tribute from District 4! Good luck out there Skylar, you'll need it!"

* * *

"Welcome, welcome Mister Winderely, how are you this evening?! As you can hear and see, the girls are going _gaga_ for you."

Who _wouldn't_ go gaga for Kite, honestly? Fitted with a swanky seafoam green cardigan, tan slacks and coffee wingtip shoes, the outfit further accentuates that gentlemanly charm Kite has carried since day one.

"Hello, hello Miss Devereaux! I feel amazing, I'm just itching to get into the arena and show my stuff. _Yes, yes_ . . . I can see all the beautiful ladies here tonight. I'm flattered by their interest, _but unfortunately,_ this young man is jacketed."

The women in the audience playfully hiss and boo at this revelation. It makes me wonder how they- being the Victors, juggle district life when us Capitolites are literally pawing to spend the night with them.

"Calm down ladies." I chide, waggling my finger towards the audience. "Say . . . Kite, are those bracelets your tokens I see on your wrists?" I motion to the women material as he smiles.

"Yeah, they remind me of home. They smell like it too." he muses, earning soft titters from the crowd.

"Speaking of home, tell me about your gal Kite!"

"Ah Miss Devereaux, Haydin is the best thing that ever happened to me. She's so easy going and down to earth. She would've been by my side too if she didn't disregard her intention to volunteer after I did." he says. "Oh yes, I also have my mates Charles and Mexir. The four of us are like musketeers. Truly, it's like were all the same person or something . . .?"

"I could imagine the four of you being quite the upstanding citizens if they all have similar personalities relating to yourself." I complement, straightening myself. "So, what brings such a well spoken young man like you here tonight in front of all these people and the nation at large?"

He laughs, firing off a cock smirk towards the audience. "Why my dear Marceline, I want to be bathed in _fame and riches._ I want my family to be stable and worry free for the rest of their lives. Why not kick start that by volunteering for the _Hunger Games_?"

Cheers ring out throughout the audience as I smile and nod along. His reasoning for volunteering is typical, but understandable all the while. Fame and adoration, your name etched into our nation's history forever, the risks are there, but anyone with a clear goal and expectations have a high percentage of making it out over those who move with the rhythm.

"Your reasoning is simple, but we all know it's a little easier said than done!" I swivel in my chair, shooting a coy smile his way as it comes to a complete stop.

"So, what traits do _you think_ will give you the edge over the others?"

"Well" the boy begins, "My family has what we call _"The Winderely Way"_ , the practice of chivalry, charisma and appearance. With our skill and tact in any subject, we tend to dance on the swords edge of arrogance in order to accentuate positive outcomes. Listen Marceline, audience, _Price is what you pay but value is what you earn._ I'm fully aware of what I'm about to partake in. I hope to do my family and District proud."

I smile. A young man- a Career no less, having some semblance of his surroundings.

"I think "The Winderely Way" is a perfect strategy that many young men and women like yourself need to emulate more often. _Ha ha ha!_ Ladies and gentleman-" I motion for the handsome young man to stand as I pump his hand into the air.

"Your male tribute from District 4, Kite Winderely! Please Kite, take a bow. You may exit where you entered." I pat him on the back as he waves his way off the stage to roaring applause and whistles.

Those were an exceptional bunch of tributes. I guess my initial assessment of tame was a tad _premature_. Here's hoping the next batch are just as interesting as they were!

 _ **"Alright ladies and gentlemen, that was the first batch of tributes down, sixteen more to go, but first- a few words from our sponsors!"**_

* * *

 ** _Ms. Pristine TV jingle_**

 _A man and a woman stand at the landing of their typical suburban home, the woman- of black descent, dressed like a typical housewife, a dress, heels and a poofy bob. The husband- of Caucasian descent, wears a sweater vest and a pipe to smoke on. A chime of the doorbell lights glee onto the husbands face as he rushes to open the door, the opening tune to Ms. Pristine beginning to play as he makes his way to the door and opens it._

 _Standing outside- is Ms. Pristine herself. She's an oriental lady, youthful and captivating, with a baby blue dress, apron and black bouffant with a matching baby blue headband. In her hands is a baby blue bottle of Ms. Pristine liquid soap!_

 _Ms. Pristine happily presents the bottle to the man, who takes it with gusto._

 ** _Husband:_** _Well hi there Ms. Pristine! **(** Shakes her hand **)** mighty glad to know ya! I got some weekend cleaning jobs, come in let me show ya!_

 ** _(_** _Laying a hand on his wife who sheepishly puts a hand on her chest **)** My wife says Ms. Pristine, there's no one who can top ya! She's never found a cleaning job that's tough enough to stop ya! _

**_(_** _They are in a dirty basement, with a tap of soap, the dirt is gone! **)** Let's clean this basement wall, Ms. Pristine you're on the ball! Now clean this brush for me, you're amazing missus P! _

_Let's give my car a try, Ms. Pristine you're quite a gal!_

 ** _Wife:_** _She'll do kitchen sinks, JEEPERS even laundry too!_

 ** _(_** _Back at the front door landing **)** **Husband:** Man there's NOTHING you can't do!_

 _Thank you Ms. Pristine, you sure did make it easier **(** After shaking the mascot's hand, he places his hands on his wife's lower hips **),** t_ _he weekend cleaning jobs are done now we can have some leisure! **(** He winks, prompting the wife to playfully slap his cheek **)**_

 ** _(_** _Closing the front door and the job done, Ms. Pristine brushes off her shoulders as household items appear around her **)** _

_Ms. Pristine gets rid of dirt n' grime n' grease in just a minute!_

 _Ms. Pristine will clean your whole house and everything that's in it!_

 ** _(_** _A bottle of Ms. Pristine slides into the camera as the mascot does a coy wink towards the audience **)**_

 _Ms. Pristine, Ms. Pristine, Ms. Pristine!_

 ** _Announcer: Ms. Pristine- Panem's # 1 choice in household cleaning products! Get yours today!_**

 _ **(** The name is chimed twice as the camera fades to black **)**_

* * *

 ** _"The 2159 Zip! Meteor" TV Spot_**

 **(** _The camera opens up to a showroom and a man decked in suit, pocket square and tie. He saunters around a 2157 Zip! Tracker Jacker four door saloon._ **)**

 **Man:** Who knew Zip! would grow so big? Panem is a growing nation with growing needs, so of course automobiles would be in high demand. The "Starfire", "Barracuda" and "Figaro" models have been quite a hit throughout the nation. However, no model related with the common man more than the Zip! "Tracker Jacker" series.

 _ **(** He caresses the left tailfin of the car, giving it a gentle pat as he glances back up towards the camera. **)** _

You all have taken quite a liking to the Tracker Jacker. Snow, you've given us "Automobile of the Year" for ten years running! We've sold many a Tracker Jacker over the years and we thank you for your patronage.

 _ **(** He lets out a sigh, shaking his head as beside the Tracker Jacker, is another mystery car covered by tarp. **)**_

Alas, as we look to the stars, we here at Zip! Automotive Company thought that we'd continue to bring the aeronautic craze to the roads, where us regular folk can partake and enjoy!

So, we say goodbye to the Tracker Jacker model and introduce you to. . .

 _ **(** With a tug of the tarp, it is removed, revealing a teal automobile keeping with the homage to the autos of 300 years prior. **)**_

The 2159 Zip! Meteor* four door saloon- Also available in convertible, station wagon and coupe models!

With Plexiglas **(Tm)** convertible bubble top, all white sidewall tires, extra chrome finish, power-steering, "Hybrid-Electric" fueling and much much more, the 2159 Zip!takes after the high speed jets and hoverplanes that soar in skies and stars.

 _ **(** He points to the tailfins and lights **)**_ Would you look at that!? The tailfins are protruding outward and the taillights are circular! The rear-end looks JUST like a jet plane!

"Introducing the 2159 Zip! Meteor saloon! If that's not exciting, I don't know what is! Starting at ten thousand sesterces, Zip! brings quality looks and sustainability with an affordable price!

 **Zip! Automotive Company - Get There!**

* * *

 _* 1959 Mercury Montclair_


	18. Interviews! Pt Two

_**Haus Der** **Toten; The 95th Hunger Games**_  
 _ **Interviews! Part Two.**_

* * *

 ** _Peacekeepers- "Enlist Today for a Secure Tomorrow." TV spot_**

 ** _(_** _The camera focuses on a boy tilling the orchards with his co-workers. With a sigh, he wipes the beads of sweat off his forehead in an attempt to stave off the sun. As the boy returns to his work a silhouette forms behind him as a distinct *clack* sound can be heard. The boy and his cohorts turn around with smiles on their faces, as a endless line of Peacekeepers- adorned in immaculate dress uniforms, pivot their rifles in synchronization. **)** _

_**Narrator** : There are those who dedicate themselves to a life of honor and distinction- that dedicate themselves to a life of courage and selfless __servitude._

 _ **(** The scenery changes from the orchards in District 11, to the quaint cottages of District 12, the mills of District 7, to the busy streets of District 6, to a school playground, to a beach in District 4- The endless line of Peacekeepers continue their synchronized twirls throughout the nation, their rifles continuing to *clack* as they serve like a protective bubble of sorts, the citizens in each scene unaware of their presence. **)**_

 _They're a select few, a noble few, proud to commit themselves to something greater- defending Panem, it's Capitol and its principles of peace, order and good government._

 _ **(** The formation continues to span from the flashy streets of the Capitol, the mountains of District 2, the hydro dams of District 5, the plains of District 9 as hoverplanes streak by, the streets of District 1, the archaic streets of Snow Island to what is presumably the far north. A battleship could be seen off in the distance among the blizzards and glaciers. **)**_

 _They are Panem's Peacekeepers. The boys and girls in white._ _They serve as vanguards of the Capitol's law throughout the land. From district to district, coast to coast._

 _And **THEY** are looking for people like **YOU.**_

 _ **(** From a side-shot, the Peacekeepers turn towards the screen in unison as it fades to black. Panem's emblem- colored in white, rotates onto the screen as the their rifles continue to clack **.)**_

 ** _Panem's Peacekeepers- Enlist Today for a Secure Tomorrow._**

 _A message from the government of Panem._

* * *

 _ **District 5**_

* * *

"And we're back everyone, how was your break?!" I trill, relishing in the screams that are hurled my way.

I take a sip of my French vanilla, mewing out with glee at the taste as the audience giggles slightly. Smacking my lips, I saunter over to my chair.

"I'm glad you guys enjoyed your little intermission. _Alas,_ we're only a quarter of the way there! So let's get back on the road shall we!?"

Giddy cheers confirm the crowd's eagerness.

"Okay, onto our kooky pair from _District 5._ Her family is quite renowned in the science community and her score alongside her partners is a little baffling to say the least . . . _Herrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrres_ Valentina Noether, our female tribute from District 5!"

I gesture towards the spotlights as the young girl casually skips over to the leather chair. She wears a pink button up with thigh length pink skirt, secured with a yellow belt. On her feet are some _just as cute_ pink peep toe pumps. She doesn't seem all that very interested in the applause and the crowd at large, as she fidgets with a spinning axle while keeping her eye on a _very_ shiny silver ring on her finger. Just like her reaping, she sits unaware and uncaring about those around her.

It's almost as if she were in her own little bubble . . .

"Erm . . . hello there Valentina, how are you?"

"Wha-? _oh_ , mmm." the girl grunts, to the confused laughs of the audience.

I frown, gesturing to the spinning axle between her thumb and index finger. "What's that you're playing with sweetie?"

"It's a krazy spinner. My mentor Piper and my escort Quinton say it's to keep me from being bored and causing problems."

"Ah yes, a _krazy spinner_ , all you kids seem to be in love with those stupid things. What's so special about it?" I inquire, fluttering my eyes as the flashing lights from the knickknack gloss over them in a rather _irritating_ manner.

"I dunno, I guess I just like the shiny lights and stuff." the girl says flatly, her eyes still trained on the trinket. I shoot a shrug towards the laughing audience as all eyes continue to focus on the rather . . . _simple_ girl.

"You don't seem like the engaging type Miss Noether." I remark, smiling slightly as she finally takes her eyes off the spinner. "Why is that might I ask?"

"I dunno?" she frowns, genuinely confused. "I don't understand why everyone has the same boring problems and feelings. Why bother with them?"

I grunt in slight approval. "I suppose that's sort of true. Who knows though, Panem and District 5 is a big place, you never know who you'll meet or what their stories would be?"

An impish grin appears on her lips as her eyes peer upward from the axle. "Yeaaah, I guess you're right."

"I know I'm right!" I cheer, over the applause and soft laughter from the audience. "So, tell me about your family."

"My family is _goood_ , thank you for asking!" she beams, a bipolar opposite expression from the neutral thin line she usually carries on her mug.

"My mom has always been very supportive of me, while dad seems to be the guy who keeps things together. My brother Adrian is pretty cool too, I help them all with experiments and stuff."

"Yes, I could imagine that your training score had quite a lot to do with your family's background. Care to give us a word or two on your partners- Occo mostly, and how you got that _whopping nine_?!"

"I'm very good with my hands." she shrugs, unresponsive to the laughs she earns from the audience. "I've always love fixing and building new things, Occo does too which I like. Cveta is a good helper too I guess, they're both pretty nice to me."

"I'm very happy you have a group to tough it out with." my smile flips into a slight frown. " _Buuuuuuuuuut_ , you are aware that for ninety-nine percent of the time, only _one_ comes out, _riiight_?"

"Yah, but what we have _cooking_ for the other guys, I wouldn't be surprised if one of us is back here again."

"With that crazy score of yours, that possibility is real." I relent, nodding as I help her to her feet and gesture towards her with my free hand, showcasing her to the audience at large.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Valentina Noether! I can't wait to see what you and your pals have _cooking_ for your competition tomorrow. Good luck to you, darling!"

* * *

Like Valentina, Occo is his own brand of wonky. Why is it always the middle Districts that carry the wonky gene?

As I introduce the young boy, he's greeted with welcoming applause topped with intrigued murmurs as he too, fidgets with a brown wooden figurine of sorts. It seems that he and Valentina were a match made in heaven for certain. He fits into that typical District 3 and 5 mold, _what-_ with his brown blazer with tan elbow patches, black slacks, matching brown shoes and turtleneck sweater. Not to mention he has his glasses on to complete the look.

He screams quirky- _maladjusted_ even, as he sits down and flashes a sheepish smile towards the audience.

"Welcome to the Capitol Occo, how are things for you here?" I ask, flashing a genuine smile.

"Hello Marceline . . . Um, things are amazing here." he says, shaking my hand. The way he uttered that sentence was slowly drawn out. This earns cackles from the audience, not necessarily in a chiding manner, but a _mocking one-_ judging by the snarky remarks I can pick out.

"I'm glad you like the accommodations, Occo." I smile. "We haven't had a reaping like yours since . . . I don't know, forever basically? Do you care to tell us a little about yourself?"

"A little like what?"

"You know! Like . . . do you have a job? How about the family? Or some friends . . . maybe of a _female nature_? Oh, oh! Or how about that nine in training you received?!"

I grimace at the reddened shade his face is reduced to, at the way his hands grip the edges of the chair he sits in. It was as if he were going to explode, but with what, anger, _nerves?_

 _Suddenly- with a bated breath,_ his pale cheeks return to normal, his cling on the leather lounge chair no longer hardened _._ "Before I was reaped, my mother was going to get me a job at Capitol Hydro, working at the dam. So . . . I guess you could say I'm very _fluid_ with my hands, as is Valentina."

I smile, nodding along as I finish the remainder of my French vanilla. I adore how the both of them are fairly simple in nature, yet excel at things that a majority of others can't do!

"That's very good Occo. I can only imagine that your nine was a testament to your intrepid trades skills." I complement, relishing in his now relaxed demeanor. "What about your family?"

" _Please_ , I'm probably _one less_ problem on their plate."

"Ah," I rasp with a quick snap of the finger. "Teenage angst, I think we _all_ could relate to you on that one!"

"Yeah, well, as you could see by my reaping . . . I'm not the best person in town when it comes to managing anger." he blushes as I pucker my lips and nod slowly, to the audiences' humor. "I just think that if I die in that arena, I doubt they would care." he laments, earning an _awwh_ from the crowd.

"My mother is constantly working, with money being tight and all . . . dad I feel never supported me or my ideas, _never. M_ y siblings are unfortunately even worse, my brothers are jerks because of my issues and my sister- well . . . She cares, but she's pretty busy with her own life." he shrugs, falling back into the lounger.

"Maybe it's for the best I don't come out of that arena alive tomorrow. Look at me," he gestures to his token. "Smashing figurines on the ground and babbling like an _idiot."_

He glances up my way, a genuine smile on his lips. "Miss Marceline, today was one of my only 'good days' I've had in a while, and I thank you for that."

I playfully touch my chest as the audience applauds. What in _Snow's name_ is wrong with these district-dwellers and parenting? I swear they have more kids than sense . . .

Using my chair, I grunt as I propel myself from my desk to Occo's chair. He seems to simper as I lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen Occo, I'm sure your parents and siblings care about you and miss you even now as we speak. You know what they say, _you never know what's good until its gone!_ With that fabulous nine, those "fluid" fingers and those allies of yours, you _win_ this thing and get back to them. I'm sure they would absolutely _love_ to start fresh."

"I'd like that, I'd like that a lot."

"I'm sure your family would like that very much as well. Ladies and gentlemen, Occo Barst!"

* * *

 ** _District 6_**

* * *

"Chugga chugga, chugga chugga CHOO-CHOO _!_ We've arrived at District 6!" I chuckle, even more so as the audience laughs along with me.

" . . . Okay, our next tribute also had quite the reaping reaction. You all saw the reaction for yourself, so I'll spare the details. Please welcome Cveta Moscone to the stage!"

As expected, her reception was mixed somewhat. One portion was due to her rather . . . outspoken words during reaping day, and the other was concerning the pink scars the young girl was riddled with. As much as each audience member mutter among themselves- bobbing and weaving to try and get a glimpse of said scars, her stylists did a splendid job of concealing her blemishes under white stockings and a choker on her neck. She looks like the epitome of a "doll", with that black frilly cocktail dress of hers.

"Cveta, I'm glad we're sober enough to make it out on stage tonight!" I quip as the audience laps it up like kittens to milk.

She rolls her eyes. "Ha ha _very funny_ , you should do stand up sometime."

"I'll happen to let you know that I was in the _drama club_ at university!" I raise my hands in faux surrender. "I understand you're a bit angry, I think your reaping speaks volumes. Why is that?"

" _Please Marceline_ , spare me the semantics. Unless you're from a lapdog District like 1, 2 and the others, _no one_ is ecstatic to be here." she spits, crossing her legs as she adjusts her sitting position.

"Especially when the president is apparently ending these games very shortly, all I had to do was chill out and ride out my remaining years until I turned nineteen. I guess life had other plans!"

I grumble, caressing my chin as the girl returned jeers towards certain members of the crowd.

"Well Cveta. I suppose your luck came up a little bit empty handed this time around, but maybe your next major encounter will be a tad different? Who knows?"

Sticking her tongue out at a student from U of P, her eyes dart back over towards me as she raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, I mean that I, like many in the Capitol, are aware of what happened to you and others in District 6 at the hands of that _ruffian_. You escaped death once right? Maybe you could escape it again?"

Her lips scrounge into a confused scowl. "I've - I've thought about it that way? But I guess I was a little blinded by the anger that being reaped brings . . ."

I shrug, nodding along in agreement. "Many tributes make the mistake of utilizing their rage in destructive ways. I suggest redirecting that energy towards staying alive, planning your next steps et cetera."

"What about your family, they must be worried sick, no?"

Inwardly, I jump for joy as Cveta's shell slowly breaks apart at the mention of family. "Before my whole scarring incident, I was pretty rambunctious-"

"-As per your reaping and chariot prep, I see you still hold the habit." I jeer as the audience guffaws lightly. I say my apologies and yearn for her to continue.

"-And my sister, Alina- my sweet, _sweet sister_ Alina, she was starting to act out too. I don't want Alina or my younger brothers Verlin and Enid to act out and cause my parents grief like I did." she gives her head a slight shake.

"I wanted to make a change for the better, y'know? My parents love me, yet I kept on letting them down. I wanted- and want to- be the eldest daughter they've wanted."

"Well Miss Moscone," I drawl, clutching her hand as I lead her towards the centre of the stage. "Like I said, if you focus your energy on staying on top of your competition, the likelihood of you gracing this stage again and being a role model not only for your siblings- but your _ENTIRE_ district, is more than certain."

"I suppose I have some thinking to do."

"Thinking is only half the battle my friend, but you're well on your way." I wink, kissing her hand as I display her for the audience at large. "Cveta Moscone!"

* * *

"Alright, alright, our next tribute is one of the youngest this year. Not quite much is known about the young lad, but then again that's why we interview the tributes, no!? Everyone, please join me in welcoming a Mister _Orville Mullen_ \- our male tribute from District 6!"

Just like his reaping, Orville strides onto the stage with an aura of composure- as well as a hint of childish trepidation. The stylists underscore this trait well, outfitting the boy in a mustard yellow one-buttoned shawl-lapel blazer with a white shirt, a cute black bow-tie with matching shoes and slacks.

"Orville buddy, welcome to the Capitol!" he smiles faintly as I pump his hand.

"Thanks Marceline, the Capitol reminds me of home, just a little bit cleaner and flashier."

"I could imagine with all that smog and concrete, the Capitol is a breath of fresh air. I'm glad you're enjoying it." I nod, as the audience lets out a healthy cheer.

Ah _yes_ , I remember Detroit all too well. **_JRN-170-_** Journalist Research Methods at U of P- write a report on District 6 and its customs. The people are like _ants_ , milling about to and fro out of their hive-like apartments and rundown housing projects. I was glad I was mainly assigned to Lansing for my project. However I will offer District 6 _some_ credit, as they make some _exemplary_ moonshine!

"So Orville, what's life like for you in the motor district?"

He shrugs. "I'm nothing special, in a District strife with issues, you learn to suck it up and move on like everyone else. I doubt anyone will care if I die in that arena, there's _thousands_ of kids like me in District 6, I'm not unique."

 _"Oh."_ I frown, glancing at the audience who also murmur with concern and confusion. _Why wasn't he a teddy bear? Why isn't he hyper like younger tributes?_ "Of course you're special Orville, you have to be special to someone? You have to have some unique traits . . .How about your family?"

"Gran passed away, mom is high off morphling everyday- barely coherent. I fear for her and I _miss_ her. Dad is . . . well, I've never met my dad before." the boy shakes his head. "As I said, I'm just one of many."

The murmurs of disgust and concern for the boy grow deeper. Even I can't seem to stop grimacing at how depressive the boy sounds.

"I'm very sorry. Truly, I really am." I scoot closer to the boy. "What about school, where do you go, what grade are you in?"

"Why does it matter, I'm not good at anything?"

"Humor me."

He lets out an exasperated sigh. "I go to _Coriolanus C. Snow Collegiate Institute_. I'm in Grade 8 group B. Ms. Buick is my homeroom teacher, she was nice." he smiled toward the camera. "After school, I work part time at _Zip!_ putting the finishing touches on the autos before we ship them off."

I slap him on the shoulder. "That's good Orville! Unlike many, you at least have something to get started no?"

"It's _not_ enough. Education equals work, work equals money and money equals food." he retorts instantly, with more analytical tone than a thirteen year old _should_ have. "I want something more. There has to be _something more_. Everyone seems to be moving up while I stay stagnate."

I shoot a coy grin his way. "You are one of the select few tributes your age who wants viable results. You're part way there." I complement, my hand remaining on his shoulder. "I'm sure Koller, Silvia and your escort Flo are giving you some tips and tricks right?"

As I say this, the camera pans to the District 6 team as they smile towards the young boy. "Yes, they've been very good to me, especially Flo." Flo smiles at this, blowing the young boy a kiss.

"What about your allies?"

"Marcia from District 11," Orville softens at her name, with a slight blush on his cheeks. "She's amazing. I wish she were from District 6 instead." He flushes even more as the crowd moans out the biggest "AWWWWWWWWWWWWW" Ive heard since Joyceta and Francisco last year!

"There, _strike two_ \- an ally you can trust! As seen for most of the nineties, age and score don't necessarily apply in this decade, anything goes."

"What about your training?"

"I tried for the jack of all trades route."

"Strike three- gather the basics of everything there is to know." I lean in towards the boy. "Mix those things altogether, your team, Marcia, your training as well as your yearning for something better and apply it in the arena- it's fool proof. You're competent, that's all one needs- competence."

Orville seems ten times lighter now. "I'll remember this."

"You better," I chide, both of us rising to our feet as I clasp his hands with a firm shake. "Your mother is waiting at home. Ladies and Gentlemen, give it up for Orville!"

* * *

 ** _District 7_**

* * *

"Y'know, I was speaking with the Gamemakers just last night, and they were _realllly_ shook by our next contestant. Apparently she has quite a mouth on her! With that decent score of hers, I think her mentor Celosia Vale has a run for her money . . ." the crowd gasps with light titters as Celosia and their escort Connor chuckle among themselves.

"Here she is now; please give it up for Landry Danton!"

The men, slightly quiet for the past two districts or so, howl and cheer at the young lady who struts towards the leather lounger. Landry makes her debut wearing navy blue high-waisted pants with a white belt, a green short-sleeved blouse with matching polka dot bandanna in her hair with green pumps. She emulates the ensembles many rebellious youth wear across the nation. If her attitude is what I expect it to be, the outfit will be a _perfect_ fit.

"How are ya Miss Danton?"

"Hey Marceline, what's up girl?" she says, planting her feet on the edge of my desk to the audiences enjoyment.

 _Yep._ Vesper sure found the perfect model for his outfit alright . . .

"I'm just super, thank you for asking." I smile, easing back into my seat after stretching her way for a handshake. "So, a seven in training, eh? I suppose I'm not wrong for assuming your attitude towards given situations was a major factor?"

She smirks, jostling her head back and forth. "I _guess_ you can say that. Although I'm surprised they didn't give me a zero."

"If you don't mind me asking, without sparing too too much, what you did ?"

She blushes, folding her arms. "I dropped an f-bomb, among other insults." she rolls her eyes as the crowd gasps and barks with laughter. "Hey, if you were being ignored, you would've done it too!"

She begins to join in on the laughs as we all double over at the thought of the young lady cussing out the Gamemakers. With a slight wave of the hand, we all come back down to earth.

"So I assume your family is just as headstrong as you are? Tell me about District life and them while you're at it."

She nods once, her lips contorted into a sad smile. "Yup, my mom is the most sensible out of the five of us- she runs a tavern downtown while my older brothers- Everett and Birch and pop alongside myself work at Mill #007. The three of them do firefighting while I'm your typical lumberjill!" she shrugs. "We're a prideful bunch, we don't take anything from anyone. We go to Sabille Rosehearty Collegiate, 9th Grade group A. My brothers do football while I play forward for our soccer team."

"Wow, you got a plethora of skills at your disposal then. That seven in training seems so clear to me now, _ha ha ha_!" I clap along with glee with the audience.

"A sporty, rowdy family like yours must also come with big hearts." I frown, spinning my chair to face the youngster. "Do you miss them?"

" _Pfft_ ," she scoffs, fanning her face as tears begin to trail down her reddened cheeks. The crowd- along with myself, yet again fall back into that somber atmosphere as I hand her a box of tissues.

"Well _duh?!_ Of course I miss them. If they're watching me right now, I'd want them to keep going, no matter _what_ happens. I'll try my best, but I can't make any promises."

I nod, saying my thanks as I receive the box of tissues back from the girl. "A headstrong young lady who's been dealt an unsavory hand, yet still plays on anyway knowing all the risks . . . I admire your realism." I acclaim.

"B _ut,_ from what my sources are saying, your potential alliance may run into trouble sooner or later, how does your _restraint_ rationalize with your forthright attitude?"

"Well Marceline . . . I believe my _"forthright"_ attitude is prevalent in a verbal sense. Believe me, I could talk allll day long! Alas, the Hunger Games are all action no talk, and _action_ is something I'm _more than willing_ to partake in. I don't think restraint is a factor tomorrow."

"I couldn't agree _more_. Doesn't she remind you of a certain Celosia Vale of the 81st Hunger Games folks?!" a wave of cheers only confirms their agreement. "Hey, who knows- maybe we'll see a repeat! Thank you Landry for the wonderful interview, may the odds be ever in your favour!

* * *

"Hello, hello Tamir! How are you my boy?"

"Hello Marceline, members of the audience! I'm doing great, thanks for asking."

"Good." I nod. "So, with all the competition you've seen so far, how are you feeling about those odds of yours?"

"Just about the same as everyone else." he snorts, his head upturned. "If the last games have taught us anything, no one is invincible. Sure _I_ might be unassuming, but look at the _previous five_ Victors."

"Hmph," I grunt, playfully waggling my finger towards the rather arrogant boy. "Someone seems a _teeny_ bit self-assuring!"

As the crowd teases the boy with light laughter, he still appears unfazed as he shoots off a casual shrug. "I'm a firm believer in having a little faith. You can't go wrong with putting your best thoughts forward."

"Your parents must be very proud of you young man! I suppose it's better than having little to no faith in your abilities."

He beams at the mention of his mother and father. "Of course, my parents have taught me since my first reaping that I'm just as good as anyone else, if not better. All you gotta do is think it through then assert yourself."

"Well, your parents have taught you well . . . However, a little birdy tells me that your attitude- _not that its inherently bad per se,_ has caused issues for you recently." I tut, swiveling in my chair. Many a tribute could learn a lesson or two from the boy when it comes to having _'faith' . . . however,_ I'd recommend someone else for teaching them how to utilize it effectively with no drawback.

"I think too much arrogance will only hinder your chances, don't you?"

"Not really." he frowns. "If the upper districts can carry on like this for almost one hundred years, why can't I? Sure, I've ruffled a couple feathers, and it felt _great."_

"Great enough to have a walking target on your back?"

"Sure, I'm not going to give people the satisfaction of shoving me aside like I'm nothing. Like I always say- don't cross me, it won't be fun."

"When push comes to shove- _for real this time_ , will you be ready to act out that motto . . .?"

He nods once. "With _gusto_."

My eyebrows raised, I swivel towards the crowd as my hands gesture towards our District 7 male.

"Well," I say with an astonished edge to my voice. "You heard the young man, he seems ready to rumble. I expect big things from you tomorrow, good luck to you Mister Acker and goodnight!"

* * *

 _ **District 8**_

* * *

"Here we are, District 8- _Textiles_! Although, from what our sources say, these two tributes resemble anything but the concrete jungle in which they live in. Here is just one of them- please give it up forrrrrrrrrrr Miss Adele Havillard!

If anyone were to fit the definition of 'sweetheart', Adele Havillard took the title by a mile. Her team clearly went for the down to earth card- styling the girl's hair in a braided updo supported by a golden hairclip of sorts with a patchwork floral skirt, black belt and pastel pink blouse to really accentuate her most probable bubbly attitude. Oh, you can't forget those brown oxfords!

 _Snow's roses,_ isn't post-war fashion is the best?

"Hello everyone, hello Miss Devereaux, pleased to meet you all this evening." she chirps, beaming as I clasp one of her fragile hands for a shake.

"My my, your stylist have outdone themselves!" I complement, giving the girl a twirl before I sit her down. "Who was your stylist? Abigail Simpson?"

"Mhm," she nods. "I'm so lucky to have her. Imagine us, District 8 having the _great-grea_ t granddaughter of Augustus J. Simpson- the founder of _Simpson's Department Store_ as our stylist!"

"Yes, you're quite the lucky duck! The Simpson family has deep roots in retail waaaay before Panem." I add, giving my head a vigorous shake. "Enough of clothes, let's talk about you! You peg me as someone who stands out from the typical District 8 mold . . ."

She nods. "You've guessed right Marceline; I'm not from the big city like everyone else. I live in a smaller town just an hour or two away, working in a flower shop with my parents. Surprisingly we make decent money; with our shop serving as a _"community garden"_ of sorts so growing food like a little District 11 is no secret to me!"

This earns impressed murmurs from the audience, _me included!_ "I take it that's how your six in training was born."

"Yes ma'am. Because of my loving parents and _big shot older brother_ , most of my skills both fighting and surviving have come natural to me. I'm a nature girl surrounded by concrete, ironic eh?"

"Yes, very ironic. I could imagine your skills in regards to survival are _impeccable_." I smile. "You seem to have it all back home . . . family, friends, and a decent hobby?"

A sad smile appears across her lips. "Yeah, I _sure did_. A mom, dad, two brothers, a sweet boyfriend named _Trystian-"_ with glossy eyes, she blows a kiss towards the cameras. "-And a plethora of really good friends Darina, Mal, Juniper, Sabine, Cornelia . . . They must be feeling _horrible_ at my predicament right now."

"That's all the more a good reason to fight harder to get back to them, no?"

"Of course Marceline, I live for the little things, as I believe the world is full of possibilities. I'll like to get back to my little bubble by any means necessary."

A barely visible scowl makes its way across my lips as the crowd offers its applause. For pretty looking girls like her, that bubble will be all but popped as soon as shes healed.

"I hear you also have some allies to help you along the way?"

"Of course, if I didn't meet them I'm not sure where I would be . . ." Adele grimaces with a slight shudder. "Rianne and Joelle are my pals this year. I know only one comes out, I know, _I know . . . but, if anything goes down in that arena, those two would be the ones I would want to go through it with."_

I nod, smirking as I lean in and plant a kiss on her hand. "You Adele are a _gem._ With Rianne and Joelle, you got a loyal duo on your hands. We'll be watching you."

"Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Adele Havillard!"

* * *

"Up next, we have James AKA "Jem" Pullo, our male tribute of District 8!"

With a confident stride, beaming smile and a casual wave to the audience, James plops down onto the lounger after a quick handshake. He's outfitted with a patchwork cardigan, with crimson being the main colour- with a white button up, black belt, khaki slacks and crimson loafers.

His hair however, just like reaping day, was a mess. The boy needs to get his mop cut, but then again I notice the cut just above his eye . . . maybe that's the culprit.

"Jem, how are you buddy?"

He smiles. "I'm doing well. You Capitol guys sure know how to cook and entertain!" the crowd cheers at this.

"What's your favourite food?"

"The honeyed smoked turkey, it tastes amazing to be frank." he grovels, earning laughs from the crowd.

"I love smoked turkey too! Every thanksgiving we make sure to have at least _one_ on our table." I wave my hand dismissively. "Thanksgiving is not why we are here, however. Tell me, how's life in District 8 for you?"

I'm instantly met with an agitated scoff. "I'd rather be here, that's for sure." this rouses murmurs from the audience.

"You know what they say, "The Capitol is the centre of the universe!"

"I wish it could be mine. The Pullo name is only known for one thing- drunkards and drug fiends." he says quietly, trying to stay calm. "Just based on association I'm a black sheep most of the time . . . it's sh***y."

"Mhm . . . You know James if you ask me, a _mother_ is the one to keep the family unit together-" I grimace at the frown that instantly appears. "-Where is mum in all this?"

"She died in an altercation. As you could imagine it f***d the family up pretty bad as my pop and my hood brother- Vern, spend all their wages on drugs and whores. Mom's clinic was shut down after her death. _ALL BECAUSE_ my idiot brother couldn't stay out of trouble."

After a flurry of downtrodden murmurs from the audience, I've decided I'll get back to the games and his controversies surrounding them.

"So I take it that your life back home is what helped you garner a satisfactory five in training?"

"Yeah I guess you're right." he shrugs, slightly disappointing. "Like Adele, I was born in a town called Wake Forest, just outside Raleigh. Being next to the woods acted like therapy for all the crap that was surrounding me. It was there where I devoted my time to my schoolbooks and my mothers teachings. It's a good thing, not being from the big city and shoved into a factory. At least I learned something Hunger Games worthy unlike most District 8 tributes."

"You got a good group as well apparently?"

"Yep, Evara and Mentan are cool people. I look forward to working with them."

"Speaking about your _alianceeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_ . . . word on the street is that you're feuding with a certain Career pack. How will you deal with that as we move on?"

Like the proverbial rebel the Gamemakers say he is, the boy lets out a scoff with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Like Tamir said, these punks aren't invincible. If I have to put up and shut up tomorrow, we most definitely _will."_

"I like your fighting spirit boy. We'll see if that same spirit will carry you back to the spot you sit in!" with a smile, he envelops my hand with a firm shake. "Good luck to you Mister Pullo!"

 ** _"Alright, alright- with that out of the way, we have the lower districts left to go! We have a weapons designer's daughter, a rather peculiar boy, a child of rebels, a singer, a girl next door and another youngin' on the way! Don't you dare change that channel, we'll be right back here after a message from our sponsors!"_**

* * *

 _ **Pepa-Cola- "Hilltop" Jingle.**_

 _ **(** The camera focuses on what appears to be a hilltop, a Harvester Girl with a District 11 complexion, fronts a mass grouping of citizens from across Panem- Ranchers, Peacekeepers, coal miners, Capiotlites, electricians, scientists and many more stereotypes. In each of their hands lies a full bottle of Pepa-Cola soft drinks **.** They were assembled on this hill in District 11 to share a message from Pepa-Cola bottlers across the nation. They sang . . . )_

 **Harvester Girl (Singing):** _I'd like to buy the world a pop and top it up with pep!_

 _Stocked with memories and calories and sugar craze galore!_

 **(Everyone):** _I'd like to teach the world to sing- sing with me- in perfect harmony- perfect harmony!_

 _I'd like to buy the world a Pep, and keep it company!_

 _That's the real thing!_

 _I'd like to teach the world to sing- world to sing- in perfect harmony - perfect harmony_

 _I'd like to buy the world a Pep and keep it company!_

 _It's the real thing!_ _Pep is, what the world wants today!_

 _Pepa-Cola i_ _s the real thing!_

 _Pep is, what the world wants today!_

 _Pepa-Cola is the real thing!_

 ** _Pepa-Cola soft drinks- "Add some Pep In Your Step!"_**

 _ **Harvester Girl** : I'd like buy the world a Pep and keep it company!_


	19. Interviews! Pt Three

_**Haus Der** **Toten; The 95th Hunger Games**_  
 _ **Interviews! Part Three.**_

* * *

 _ **District 9**_

* * *

"Here we are ladies and gentlemen, our final districts!" I exclaim, craning my head as the audience lets out a cheer. "For this half of the night, we begin with District 9- _Grain!"_

 _"_ Unfortunately, Panem's breadbasket has not recovered from the war in terms of victor count, having both Marian Green and Daniel Bernhardt fighting and dying valiantly during the Third Quarter Quell." I pout, nodding along as slight groans of sadness erupt throughout the hall.

"Yes, yes, how _unfortunate._ However, we _must_ remember that in victory and death, our tributes serve an ulterior purpose of _peace and stability_. It is because of them Panem continues to strive! Heck, we're gonna visit the _moon_ again, if that's not a tribute to Panem's growth I don't know _what_ is!" my audience seems to agree too, as their roars of approval come in waves.

 _"_ Alright, with that being said, here's hoping one of _these_ tributes will turn this negative trend upside down! First from District 9, Rianne Verano!"

The girl takes a few cautious steps, shyly waving towards the audience as cheers pour her way.

" _Wow, wow wow,_ look at you Rianne, I'm surprised that skirt length isn't _illegal_!" I pretend to fan myself, watching as she settles down into the lounger beside my desk.

A coffee suede skirt, long moccasins like the injuns wear in District 9, 7 and 10, and a cream sweater is what we're working with here. It looks good on her!

"Rianne, I've been hearing a lot of _good_ things about you recently . . ."

She smiles, a slight blush appearing on her cheeks. "Really now, what makes you say _that_ Marceline?"

"Well darling, that seven you got in training alongside the Gamemakers' personal remarks paint an intriguing picture." I say, wagging my finger. "So, who or what would you say, _inspired you?"_

"I'd say my upbringing and family have done that for me." she mews softly, nodding in reminiscence.

"I'm just a District 9 village girl with a mom, dad and family that love and nurture one another. Alisa, Calia and Connor . . . Liz and Devyn, we all grew up among the stalks of wheat and the wide open fields. Because of my upbringing, I think the survival and outdoor skills are a breeze for me. Mainly, I thank our Head Trainer Claudia for helping me accentuate my sickle skills."

"Is Claudia in the audience? Everyone give it up for our Head Instructor Claudia!" the camera pans to the grizzled trainer who with a cocky smirk on her lips gives a single nod in return.

"Don't forget Sindy," coos Rianne, "She's one of the best escorts we've had in a while. I would be strategically blind if it weren't for her."

The camera pans to the Capitol's resident Barbie. In typical fashion, the blonde beauty has her face stuffed in a mirror. A slap upside the head from District 11 Escort Octavia rouses her, prompting Sindy to giggle as she waves and curtsies for the audience.

"Sindy is a rising star for sure. _So_ , Rianne," I swivel back to the young girl. "I would imagine that life was pretty simple back home, no?"

She nods her head vigorously in agreement. "Yeah, a little _too simple_ if you ask me. We lived so far away from the cities; I barely had a care in the world. I would go to school- _Laurel Flamsteed Secondary Grade 10 group D,_ if you wanted to know." she jeers, earning a little laugh here and there.

"With my siblings, we'd venture around the woods or on occasion, go to Fargo or Bismarck and spend the day in the big city. I excel in every challenge put my way and my parents support me. That's all I needed, really."

"You said something about _"too simple"_ , why was it?"

"Well Marceline," she sighs, adjusting her seating. "I'm an _idealist._ I've always dreamed of being _something-_ a helper, a hero, someone who could contribute to better things. I guess that maybe . . . with this whole Hunger Games business, my dreams could be a hit or a _miss._ "

 _"I very much agree!_ If you or Mentan we're to take the crown, it would be quite the confidence boost for folks back home. I'd wager that many are rooting for you."

"Yeah I know." she mumbles lowly. "Maybe I do have the potential to win this. Everyone else believes in me - it's just whether _I_ believe in me."

"We'll find out in the next couple of hours and days ahead, my sweet." I wink, clutching her hand as I usher her to the centre of the stage.

 _"Ladies and gentlemen- Miss Rianne Verano, give her your love will ya?!"_

* * *

"Mentan Upton, please come on out!"

Hunched and wracked with nerves, the young District 9 male slinks over to the lounger. His shell begins to falter as he flashes a slight wave to the audience. Like Orville, his youthful, childish charm is capitalized on with his bottle green blazer, khaki slacks and bow-tie with black and white oxford shoes. Don't forget the nifty pocket square- styled into a three-point crown of sorts.

"Hmmm, someone seems a tad bit nervous." I ponder, tapping my chin as the boy nods gravely. "Well don't be! Personally, I don't see too much merit in a score- for obvious reasons. What do you think you're good at?"

" . . . To be honest, surviving. Plants, first-aid, all that dumb stuff." he mutters, a lopsided frown on his lips.

"C'monn Mentan, survival skills mean the difference between life and death, especially when it comes to the type of arena you could be put in."'

"I guess you're right, well, somewhat." he shrugs.

"Hey, you can _never_ be too sure when it comes to a Hunger Games match. Sure, the last couple years have been "concurrent" but I digress." I say with a exhale. "What else, my friend?"

"Well . . . I'm pretty smart I think, and creative. Well, that's what my mom, dad and teachers say."

"Okay, so you're a fairly intelligent fellow and you have knowledge of the field." I recite as he nods. "That's good!?"

His arms crossed, his frown grows deeper as his shakes his head. "I think you're lying. Everyone always tries to offer pity towards me, but I see _right through_ it."

I scowl, looking on towards my guests as they continue to murmur among themselves- most likely about writing off the boy entirely. At least Orville was _open_ to coaxing. Mentan needs a little more _nudging_.

"Listen buddy," I exhale, scooting over to the cynical youth. "Have you seen the past five victors? Y'know, Zinnia Parsons of District 11, Ainsley Tisdayle, Joyceta and Francisco, Piper and Gwendolyn? They weren't the strongest of the bunch, besides the Snow Islanders, the rest were rated the lowest of the low. It was because of their perseverance and mental prowess why they won."

"What about weapons?" he inquires with a raised eyebrow.

I shrug. "A dagger is simple enough. If you know just the bare minimum; you could easily dispatch a foe. A sword or a monk's spade might be _flashier_ , but a knife is just as practical."

"I _did_ use a push dagger most of the time."

"Well, there you go Mentan! Listen, I follow the belief that if you have enough sense and practicality in your movements throughout the arena, you'll be golden. Have some faith my boy, it'll take you _miles_."

He hums in agreement. "I'll try and keep that in mind for the next twenty-four hours."

"Please do so. You know what else you should keep in mind? Your _family_ , your family will always serve as a confidence booster!"

"Oh yeah," he mumbles. "With all the fancy food and the training for a fight to the death, you kinda forget about back home." this earns laughter from the audience. "My older brother, West, ran away a couple years ago . . . I would hate for mom and dad to lose yet another son."

I nod. "Fight my friend; fight like you've never fought before."

"With that being said, give it up for Mentan Upton, here's hoping he blossoms!"

* * *

 ** _District 10_**

* * *

"Our next contestant is quite an emotional gal. Here's hoping she doesn't cry near me- I don't want to end up teary eyed as well! Please welcome Joelle Castro to the stage!"

With a bright smile, Joelle quickly bounds over to me and envelopes me in a friendly hug before sitting down.

"Howdy everyone, Missus Devereaux." she greets, her eyes roaming the receptive audience.

"I like the dress Joelle, I take it you're a proud southerner for sure." I say, regarding her figure.

Western films are the bee's knees in the Capitol. They would always depict burly, gruff Peacekeepers patrolling the southern frontier from bandits and thuggish injuns. Not to mention the 83rd Hunger Games Victor Annabelle Starling being a popular sex symbol with her applejack persona- so obviously, plaid shirts and gabardines are also in fashion. Instead of the predominantly male gabardine button up, she wears a dress version with _boots_ of course.

"Of course Marceline, you know what they say- _'Don't mess with Panem's Ranch!_ '"

"Yes, your District is quite the sentimental bunch. On top of the typical seal, you guys still fly that pre-disasters flag right? The one with the red white and blue with the star in the blue . . .?

"Do you mean the old Texas flag? Mmmhm, some of us even still fly the Dixie flag. I swear in a newscast once, I saw one in _District 11_ too."

 _You southern districts and your customs . . ._ "Old habits never die I suppose." I relent. "Okay, onto your life and the games. I see your reaction was less than stellar when your name was drawn. What's holding you back?"

"Well, my family of course." she mumbles indistinctly, "I come from a very big and outgoing family. Not just by blood, but by _community."_

"Mmmhm . . . District 10 always had a sense of established values." I nod. "Tell me about the family."

"Well, my dad is _always_ such a character. He has this goatee that doesn't fit him, yet he still insists that he wears It." she shakes her head as the crowd offers laughter in return. "Then we have my mother and my siblings Harriet and Christian. Harriet is only 3 years old so I spend my after school hours taking care of her and hanging out with my best friend Sasha while Christian and my parents work at our nearby ranch."

"That sounds like a quaint life. I bet you want to get back to that life as soon as possible. With a five in training, anything could happen. How do you plan about going through these games?"

Just as she offers her reply, I quickly raise a finger. "And um . . . if you could quell doubts about your ability due to your reaping reaction, that'd be swell too."

"Well, In terms of my reaping, I had a good life before my name was drawn. I'm always smiling; I love myself for who I am." She says.

"I laugh, I cry, I don't care if people see. I know I'm _not_ weak. Our mentor Annabelle and my escort Harriet have been great throughout this whole thing. I've learned many a pointer from both of them."

The 83rd Hunger Games Victor alongside Harriet wave towards the adoring audience.

"I see what you're trying to say, we can't _really_ judge a book by its cover, especially in a decade such as this one." I say, waving towards the rowdy District 10 victor and my good friend Harriet as the cheers die down.

"If you feel confident in your abilities, more power to you! Do you _think_ you have a shot of breaking down the odds?"

She shrugs. "Deep down, I do feel like I _CAN_ do this. Like everyone likes to quote, ' _look at the previous five Victors_ '. If doing this means killing to live, then I guess I'll have to. _Anything_ to save my life I guess . . ."

I gleefully snap my finger. _That's_ the type of optimism I like to see in a younger tribute. "There you go Joelle! Like Tamir said- a little faith can take you a _long_ way. I hope you find the remainder of that strength tomorrow."

She nods, baring her pearly whites as she shakes my hand. "I sure do hope so too, Marceline."

"Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Joelle Castro of District 10! It was a pleasure speaking to you young lady, we'll be seeing _you_ in the arena tomorrow!"

* * *

"In my preliminary opinion prior to the opening ceremonies, I had pegged a lot of these guys as . . . less than stellar. Our next tribute is only one of many that proved me wrong with his exceptional scoring. Please give it up for Tybalt Moranthyfis, our District 10 male this year!"

Like the reaping, Tybalt looks . . . orchestrated. Every step he takes, every smile, every wave he sends to the audience is carefully executed to preserve an image of sorts. Unlike the other non-Career children, he looks me straight in the eyes when he shakes my hand- an obvious attempt to try and calculate his next words and movements.

"Tybalt, you look rather dashing tonight." I say, gesturing to his gold blazer with a nifty black string tie. District 10 is _really_ keeping to cultural fashion alright.

"Well thank you Miss Devereaux," he purrs with a curt nod. "I think my stylists have been doing a _spectacular_ job." he waves to them, as they giddily return the gesture.

"You know what they say Tybalt, the Capitol is the _fashion mecca_ of the nation!" I giggle, cutting it short as I point to the bronze medal he wears. "Say, what's that medallion you have on your neck there?"

"A friend- Vir, gave it to me . . . he won it in some competition not _too too_ long ago?"

"I follow District 10 sports, lemme see." I lean in, examining the trinket. "You must be talking about the 100 meter dash at the district championships. Annabelle Starling's brother, Wyatt, took gold!"

"Now, let's talk about the _man_ rather than the clothes. Did you know that regardless of the flurry of sevens and eights, you rank fairly well when it comes to overall odds?"

He seems pleased at this piece of news, a smug smile playing on his lips as he shakes his head. "No, I haven't. That's very good news regardless."

"Well, now you know. In terms of attributes, what traits do you have that makes _you_ prepared to head into that arena tomorrow?"

"Hmm . . . Well Miss Devereaux, I like to think of myself as a "balanced guy". I'm always in control of any given situation I'm put in. Not to mention my . . . um, _fluency_ with words, my charisma seems to have given me a 'luck streak' over the years."

"Ah, so we have a _smooth talker_ in our midst. About that ' _charisma'_ of yours, word on the street has it that you're quite the guy back in District 10."

"Oh yeah, Marceline? Elaborate for me."

"Some circles think of you as a bully of sorts. Do you care to explain?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Like I said, just because the way I go about . . . _'expressing'_ myself - in a verbal manner mind you - is a little bit more underscored, _doesn't_ make me a bully." he explains, giving his head a playful shake.

"In Panem, one must do anything to get ahead, no?"

Oh _wow_ , I wasn't expecting an answer like _that_. The crowd wasn't either, murmuring as they try to make something of the silver-tongued boy. He has _no idea_ about his last statement.

If he were a Capitol, he'd get along just well with the politicians.

"Does _'getting ahead'_ mean taking your brothers fiancé Kila Dylan from off his arms and taking her for your own?" I snipe back, leaning into my chair as the audience bursts into a full out cacophony of gasps and fervent murmurs. When I first heard from my media sources, I too was a little taken aback by the boy's swagger... again, if he were to pull that stunt here, he'd have to watch his food and drink with a careful eye.

At first, he seems shocked that we'd have that information. Then with his "balanced" fashion, he lets out an airy guffaw as he crosses his leg over the other.

" _Ha ha ha ha_ . . . Oh boy, who told you that, my sister Lana? She's a smart cookie, I love her though regardless." he snickers, the audience still murmuring among themselves with intrigue.

" _Listen,_ listen! I told Micham that it was for the best. Kila is a girl that likes to have fun, and we'll be having a lot _more fun_ when I win."

"How do you plan on winning, besides your impressive score and social skills?"

He casks a smirk my way. "Good allies as well as an aggressive game plan. I think this year, with the current tribute roster and all, calls for a more . . . 'aggressive' game plan."

I nod. "It's easier said than done my friend, but something tells me you'll be able to deliver. I think _everyone_ will be keeping a third eye on you and your alliance tomorrow."

He leans in for a shake, which I oblige. "Good luck sir, you'll need it!"

He shakes his head. "I've been blessed with luck all my life; the next couple days will be _no_ different."

* * *

 ** _District 11_**

* * *

"For District 11, we'll be changing things up just a _teeny weenie_ bit! This evening, I welcome the _male_ first. Mister Cian Landon, make your way to the stage!"

Cian makes his way over to the set, looking awfully terse and annoyed at the slight applause he receives. Given the boy's family history, I take it he's _no_ fan of Capitol City. Alas, his stylists did a superb job of transferring that energy into his outfit, a leather jacket, and dungarees rolled up at the pant leg and a white t-shirt with swanky boots. Yep, like Landry- he takes after the fashion sense of many youths throughout the nation. Even kids in the Capitol like dressing up as hoodlums.

"Mister Landon, how are you this evening?"

"I could be better, you know, with the whole _Hunger Games_ thing starting tomorrow?" he says with a faux-incredulous twang to his voice. "I don't think many people would be 'thrilled'."

"I take it you're not excited for the festivities."

"I'm anything _but_." he retorts.

With the crowd muttering in discontent- as per usual with some District 11 tributes such as he - I decide to press further. "What did you think of President Kane's address about the end of the games after the quell?"

He tenses, his features showing the tell tale signs of annoyance and agitation. He knows that the following reply could end up with him dying or even his family being dealt punishment. However, word on the street is that President Kane isn't in the business of spite. Hey, we don't call the man " _Uncle Kane_ " for nothing! Judging by all the rumors I've heard during my years in the upper echelons, he's a _saint_ compared to other politicians.

"I'm . . . _surprised_ that he decided to make such a decision, maybe then my siblings wouldn't be selected." he says tersely, flashing a smile. "However, I think President Kane and the government should do more rather than talk."

Hmmm, no word from the producers in my earpiece, so I guess we're green!

"How so?"

"I live a good life, Miss Marceline. My parents, siblings and I make a decent living the best way we can. I just wish things were easier to obtain, is all."

"Ah yes," I sigh, "Your parents . . . Speaking about your parents, a little birdie told me that _they_ were _rebel combatants_ during the Second Rebellion. Care to explain?"

Without an indication from the cameras, apart from focusing in where the boy was glaring beams to, Cian gazes out towards our . . . erm, _'birdie'_ , 76th Hunger Games Co-Victor Clarence Linscott-Gordon. It's as if Cian _knew_ he spoke to us.

Mister Linscott-Gordon doesn't seem fazed one bit, returning the glare with a smug grin. His sister and other half of the 76th winner duo, seems upset with her sibling. Octavia and Zinnia stare straight ahead, faking obliviousness.

Regardless, the crowd boos at this revelation. Going on twenty years, the wounds haven't healed yet. I remember when District 2 temporarily fell and they were at our doorsteps! Heh, where'd we be _now_ if we'd lost, I don't wanna know!

"Come on, come on, let the boy explain himself!" I gesture towards Mister Landon, a thin smile on my lips. "Go on my friend, there are always two sides to a story."

"Thank you." Cian nods. "As we all know, President Kane signed the "Truth and Reconciliation Act" forgiving the crimes normal soldiers committed during the war. My parents accepted the economic and social stigmas that went with it as they made their peace with the Capitol."

"Our birdie left out that part, I'm glad they've put away that insolent mentality!"

Cian snorts. "Your _birdie_ knows nothing about me or my family . . . or anything about District 11 and its people to be quite frank, but I digress."

With pursed lips, I nod slowly- watching as Clarence's smug smirk turns into a slight look of scorn.

"I'm sure if you win, you will join the ranks of Zinnia, Clarence and Paisley as shining examples of District 11 and its character. You received an _eight_ , that's pretty top tier my boy. How do you plan on staying above your competition?"

"Carpe Diem- s _eize the day, put very little trust in tomorrow._ I don't like it, but if I want out of that arena, I'm gonna have to. With good allies by my side and a good game plan among the three of us, we're going to have to get very productive to see the results that we and eventually, _I_ want to seek."

"With that eight in training and your allies according to the Gamemakers report of you . . . the day could very well be _yours_ to seize." I beam, as we both arise out of our seats.

 _"I hope you prove everyone wrong. Ladies and gentlemen, Cian Landon of District 11!"_

As the crowd politely applauded the boy off of the stage, I turn back to the audience to see Paisley, Zinnia and Octavia pressing me with knowing looks. _Yes, yes,_ you're calling in a favour, _I Know I know_. Understanding their looks, I flash a quick wink towards the District 11 team. Even if they didn't ask, I'd still do the following for the little girl _any day_ of the week.

* * *

You know . . . Octavia Philips- the escort to District 11- made a _perfect_ moniker for my following guest. ' _Golden pipes',_ man can that girl sing! Am I right folks?!"

Of course I am, judging by their wild cheers not many District 11 children receive.

"Here she is, the girl with the golden voice- why the _heck_ wasn't she signed to Atlanta Records yet? - MARCIA MATA!" the audience lets out a healthy cheer as the young girl makes her way onto the stage, shyly waving and smiling.

Her outfit is the _epitome_ of adorable with a splash of creativity to kick it up a notch. Instead of the typical poodle or music notes skirt, she wears a black skirt patterned with a cornucopia filled with fruit replacing the dog and a sparkling belt to accessorize. She wears a coral tennis shirt, black ascot and tops it all off with shiny flats with coral socks!

It looks spectacular and she takes it all in stride, which makes her all the _more amiable._

"Hi everyone thanks for the warm welcome!" she chirps, greeting me with a hug before taking her seat. I couldn't help but notice her fragility as my arm brushed her shoulder blades.

I motion for the crowd to calm down as Marcia continues to flash her pearly whites towards the receptive congregation.

"Marcia my child, you've taken the Capitol by storm with that spontaneous reaping reaction of yours! Did you know you rank number one in the Captiol TV/PBC _favourite tribute_ poll?"

She giggles, earning a flurry of awwhs. "No, I didn't know that. I'm happy you guys like me."

"So, how do you like the Capitol so far?"

She jostles her head around. "It's _very different_ ; I threw up due to all the _good_ food I ate. Y'know, not having a lot of money all the time doesn't really allow you to have a lot of stuff, so this is all new _very very_ new to me."

I nod, smiling all the while. "So, things are kind of rough back home?"

"Yeah, Mom and dad fight a lot over money and stuff but its okay I guess. I sing for money and people like it, I get a lot of tips when I do sing."

"That's good news Marcia, I take it in school you must be doing extremely well in music?"

Myself, along with the crowd laugh as she nods her head vigorously. "I have a ninety-nine percent! I also get a TON of merit awards at the end of the year."

"Even though you may not be the richest, you still make it work. I _like_ that. How about the Hunger Games though?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. "I see that Orville Mullen and yourself have made acquaintance over the last couple days. What about your overall strategy?"

She smiles, her cheeks becoming flushed as she keeps her eyes on her flats. "Yeah, Orville has been the best. I think we'll be a _great_ team once things begin."

Unfortunately, her bright smile becomes a dark frown as the topic hits her. "I know my field skills, I love the outdoors and climbing, so on and so forth . . . But I don't think I have it in me to _kill_ someone." she grimaces.

"Why is that, Marcia?"

"Well to be honest, I haven't really put much thought into that part yet. Marcia shrugs. "Maybe if it _really_ comes down to it, I will."

"Most kids wrack their brains with that scenario, why doesn't it bother you as much it would another kid?" I inquire.

"Because, I'm a firm believer in what my mother tells me." she says.

"What's that, sweetie?"

"You gotta take things one day at a time." she smiles warmly, her face filled with a weird mix of resignation and clarity. "Things will get better. I hope that if anything happens to me, they continue to try and make ends meet without destroying themselves."

"Caring, ever always so sunny . . . I'm amazed at your mindset, aren't you folks?" applause and cheers are their reply.

"So, Marcia, may I ask a question?" I croon, caressing my knuckles as she cranes her head over to me.

"Who's your favourite band?"

"Hmmmm . . . well, I absolutely _love_ The Barberettes." she gushes. "Mom bought me their full holo-album for my birthday once."

My smile threatens to fall off my face entirely. "Well then! Since you sing so well, I thought . . . _'Hey, why not bring them here tonight to sing with you_?!'"

What happens next is a flurry of emotion. Many young girls shriek at my veiled implications, some members of the audience double over in laughter as Marcia's face is so agape she could catch a swarm of flies. All in all, the crowd was on a rollercoaster of hysterics.

"Huh? What do you mea-"

" _Allll_ the way from Opulence Records in District 1, owners of _three platinum records_ here to perform a medley of their biggest hits- ** _THE BARBERETTES!_** "

A blackened portion of the stage becomes lit again- furnished with a full band and four microphones. The lead microphone is vacant; behind the others stand three teenage oriental beauties- each in their signature pose featured on many of their album covers.

The crowd is going absolutely _b-a-n-a-n-a-s._

"I-I, um . . . I-er-" I cut off the babbling thirteen year old with a single finger to the lip.

"The night is yours, girl. We _did_ say save your golden pipes until you reach the Capitol, no?" I motion towards the microphone as she quickly darts to the vacant spot.

For the next five minutes the crowd is treated to a mix of the hits that have taken the nation by storm, be it Capitol or District. Honestly, if things we're different, Marcia would've been a _sensation._ She holds her own quite well among the other girls.

 _My boyfriend's back and you're gonna be in trouble!_  
 _Hey-la, hey-la, my boyfriend's back!*_

Unfortunately . . . As I jive along with the audience to the act- heck even the other tributes seem _OK_ by this - I've come to a realization, ever since the young girl was reaped, really.

 _-Call my baby lollipop_  
 _Tell you why_  
 _His kiss is sweeter than an apple pie!_  
 _And when he does his shaky rockin' dance_  
 _Man, I haven't got a chance!*_

We're talking about a thirteen-year old District 11 female here. _Sure_ , look at the other previous 'younger' tributes- _Snow -_ look at _Zinnia Parsons!_ However I doubt six times in a row would occur.

 _-Mister Sandman, bring me a dream_  
 _Make him the cutest that I've ever seen!_  
 _Give him the word that I'm not a rover_

 _Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over!*_

I just hope that _erm..._ When the high probability _does_ happen, she _doesn't_ suffer. I know that this is far from the case, however. For now, let her have this night. A poor girl from one of the poorest districts, its the least I could do. It's not like the other tributes, judging by their reactions, really care that she has increased exposure, again for obvious reasons.

 _-Pistol packin' mama_  
 _Lay. that. pistol dowwwwn!_

 _Ooooooh, pistol packin' mama_  
 _Lay. that. pistol dowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwn!*_

I stride back over to the stage, giving Marcia a side hug as the crowd overflows with fervent cheers.

 _"_ LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, The Barberettes and our female tribute of District 11 in this year's Hunger Games, MARCIA! Please give her your love!"

. . . Oh boy. Why couldn't we just we just reap the people who _deserve_ it?

* * *

 ** _District 12_**

* * *

"WOWZA, wasn't that a treat? You guys seem very energetic, being so late into the interviews and all, _ha ha ha ha ha_!" I trill, taking a deep exhale as I ease myself back into my chair.

"Here we are at District 12- Coal! Our next female tribute is a rare case throughout Panem. With her business-savy parents, the Hunger Games wouldn't be the same without their companies' craftsmanship. Please welcome Lumina Reiss to the stage!"

The crowd responds well, with Marcia's performance softening them up, as well as Lumina not being a pure District 12 citizen. If it were any other year, the applause would be significantly muted. Since the conclusion of the war, the population of District 12- born and raised is diluted at best. Out of the hundred thousand people living there, the majority are the defeated citizens of District 13.

Nonetheless, Lumina goes for a conservative look- a black A-line dress with her gold and yellow topaz necklace token, black flats and headband to accessorize. It really highlights her posh background.

"Welcome Lumina to the Capitol, you look amazing my dear."

She smiles, adjusting her sitting position to perfection. "Why _thank you_ Miss Devereaux, I appreciate the complement. Mother always taught me about poise and dignity. So it translates to my choice of clothing."

"Yes, well District 12 could learn a thing or two from your mother and yourself about poise and dignity . . . as you might have seen recently, no one here in the audience is a fan of your home District." I say with an indirect mocking tone, nodding along with the audiences hissing and slight booing.

She nods. "I understand, District 12 has had quite the history in the past couple years but I assure you the people are quite nice. I too once held a disdain for the majority of them, but speaking with Ainsley and my District partner has shed a new light on my prejudice."

"Ainsely is quite the girl indeed." I point to her as the camera pans the coveted row of Victors. "Our 90th Hunger Games Victor Ainsley Tisdayle everyone!"

The dark haired nineteen year old- looking _very_ groggy from possible medicine use - waves politely towards the crowd as escort Francine offers a supportive shoulder rub.

"Say, how is life in District 12 for a District 3 citizen?"

"It's a fairly quaint town. Much more green and small compared to District 3. Because the population of District 13 was moved there, father thought that he'd expand his business. Socially, things are going decent. Before being chosen as female tribute, I was being taught by many tutors in preparation for one day taking over the family company. My friends, Hedy and Cordin are extremely pleasant individuals. As are the other townspeople I've made acquaintance with."

I grunt in agreement. "I haven't visited District 12 in a while, I'd bet it looks very different now." I turn towards the audience. "Keep in mind folks, Lumina's father is a _weapons designer."_

This earns inquisitive murmurs throughout the hall. Lumina seems to revel in the praise _. "_ However, we'll talk about that afterward. Lumina, I heard you were _engaged recently,_ no _?"_

She nods as the murmurs pick up again. "Yes, yes I am. Leonardo Aurum and I are good friends. His family and mine are planning to consolidate our companies together as one."

"Hmmm," I grunt. "That seems like a marriage of convenience rather than love, no?"

Lumina keeps a straight lipped smile. I know that smile better than _annnnyone_ else. There's more to the marriage than meets the eye, especially with that " _good friends_ " comment. Due to her upbringing, I doubt she'd divulge any information.

" _Possibly_ , but the amiable relationship me and Leo holds negates any negativity in regards to the decision." she says finally, that fragile smile still etched onto her lips. Her eyes seem to tell me 'Y _our move!'_

I won't press it anymore. "So, let's talk about the games. That eight you got was pretty good for a District 12 female. Talk to me about your traits and goals when it comes to besting your opponents."

"I believe as a female tribute representing District 12, I bring a rather diverse skill set that the country hasn't seen before." she begins. "Unlike a majority of our females being underfed- I think that given my background with my family company, you'll be quite happy with my performance tomorrow."

"And what about your drive to win, what would it be?"

"Surely there's more to life besides the arena." she drawls, her leg lazing back and forth. "Between the company and Leo I have so much to live for; I'm not quite ready to kick the bucket yet Miss Devereaux."

"The stakes are high for you Miss Reiss, however given your _colourful_ background, I think you'll be just fine." gently taking hold of her hand, I ease her up out of the lounger.

 _"Such grace, such dignity! Lumina Reiss, we wish you well!"_

* * *

 _"_ Here we are ladies and gentlemen, our _last_ tribute of the night! Please welcome ' _the peculiar_ ' Jai Matisse!

I point towards the entrance as light applause envelops the hall. Jai saunters out, looking very dazed and confused as the young man shields his eyes from the spotlights. The lad wears a blue plaid blazer, solid blue tie and some black slacks with oxfords to go along with it.

"So Jai," I begin as the boy takes his seat. "You have a lot of people buzzing about your rather _odd_ behavior these past couple days."

He glances around some more, oblivious to my words. Suddenly, he gives his head a violent shake. "Huh," he splutters. "What'd you just say?"

I snort, as the rest of the audience chuckles along lightly. "I _said_ , your kooky behavior has got a lot of people buzzing about you. So, _what's the tale nightingale_?"

"Oh, okay. I'm _so_ sorry Marceline!" he smiles, blushing as the audience giggles some more. "Ever since I was little I've been getting these . . . _flashes."_

I raise an eyebrow. "' _Flashes_ ' you say . . . explain further buddy?"

"I'm not sure I can without you fully understanding." he says. "Life is good yeah, but it's so hard- so hard, so _very_ hard to just ignore the _horrible_ images that'll randomly come to me."

"Images such as?"

"Being in a previous Hunger Games." he says, wincing as the audience breaks into confused murmurs. "I swore you looked like Jay Pennington just now!"

A faux frown spreads on my lips, as the jumbotron displays a photograph of the former Master of Ceremonies. The audience laughs as I playfully mimic the pose Jay makes. The audience goes even _more_ wild as the cameras pan to the former Hunger Games host _himself_ , as the silver haired man five years my senior casts a playful shrug.

"Umm . . . Mister Matisse, Mr. Pennington is _before_ your time. You were only a wee baby when he was in charge." I murmur with a confused twang. "So what, you're saying you were a tribute during the _77th_?"

The crowd is aghast with exclamations when Jai jostles his head. "The people in my 'flashes' refer to me as . . . Graelyn, Graelyn Nash."

"Hmmm," I ponder, pointing towards the row of victors as the camera sweeps to 77th Hunger Games Victor Cessna Embraer of District 1. "Is Cessna in your 'flashes' too? After all, she did win those games."

". . . Sometimes." he grimaces, frowning as the victor snaps a wink towards the boy alongside a playful wave.

As the crowd continues to grumble, I've decided to switch topics. By the end of the night they'll know more about the _tribute_ rather than his odd paranoia. Maybe he has schizophrenia or something. That'd make for _good_ television!

"Maybe I have a condition that the doctors in District 12 don't know about?" Jai jokes, laughing along with the audience.

"Maybe you do! If you _win_ , maybe the doctors here can take a gander at that brain of yours!" I say with a wink. "So besides all that, let's look at Jai Matisse as a _tribute._ You're also a part of the high scorers this year. What was the contributing factors might I ask?"

The young man caresses his chin. "Well, I work for _Capitol Coal_ as a miner; the labor is a _workout_ in itself. Because our District is so small, knowledge of the land is second hand to most of us, so there's that too."

I gesture to his toned arms. "I can see that. Your miner job has been _very_ nice to you indeed."

When asked about his family and friends, it appears that his mother is very effeminate towards the boy while his father is more of the pragmatic type. He has various friends from across the District, but no one he'd consider to be a 'best' friend.

"My father always says to focus on what matters." says Jai. "Usually, I would have pretty bad tantrums- I would've thought that being in the Capitol it'd be _worse_. Due to Francine and Ainsley, not to mention Lumina for being such a good partner as well as a _massive_ pain in the butt-" we all giggle at his little quip, "I feel more determined than ever to live."

"Snow knows District 12 could use the morale right now." I muse, watching as Jai nods his head in agreement.

"I've lived a good life in District 12. Sure things are a little bad at times, but with a new generation growing up, having a new District 12 victor would alleviate the tension, no?"

I suppose the young man is right. Ainsley is a good example of this, a non-troublesome orphanage girl rising to become a beacon to those who yearn for more in life.

"With the tributes District 12 has sent to us this year, a new victor isn't _totally_ out of the question . . ." I say. "If you heed the words of your father and focus on what _really_ matters- the _present_ \- who knows where you'll end up?"

Jai and I stirr as the opening stanza of the national anthem begins to play. The crowd roars with applause as each of the tributes - starting with Rafaela and ending with Lumina - stride across the stage to the platform in which Marcia was performing on. The Career Districts give the crowd a show, waving and showboating all the while, as the other districts are slightly muted but play along nonetheless.

 _"Well, I believe our time is up! You may be a little bit random Mister Matisse, but you have a great amount of potential and we wish you well!"_

I motion for Jai to join Lumina at the end of the procession as each tribute boards a upper platform, allowing them from Snow Island all the way to District 12, to be displayed to the nation at large!

* * *

 ** _"Well, well, well! Here they are- our tributes for the 95th Hunger Games! Each of them have their reasons and motivations. We've all had a glimpse into the way they 'tick' and now it's time for you to decide who to throw your support behind!"_**

 ** _"Tributes, we salute you for the task you are about to undertake! It is because you and you alone why Panem continues to remain prosperous and secure. Good luck tomorrow- and may the odds be ever in your favour! Ha ha ha!_**

Hands over our hearts, we stand stalwart as the anthem rings out throughout the hall. Some of us sing along, bursting with joy and anxiousness, while others opt to remain silent. Then, the tributes are led away to roaring applause, back to the lounge area where VIP's would have a chance to interact with them no doubt.

I was very very wrong about my preliminary diagnosis! When you sit down and talk to each one of them face to face, their reasons and livelihoods offer ample drives for the crown. Unfortunately for the grand majority of these youths, their days might be _numbered_.

Who'll take the crown, I wonder? I suppose I'll just have to _wait and see_!

* * *

 _ ***My Boyfriend's Back- The Angels (1963)**_

 _ ***Lollipop- The Chordettes (1958)**_

 _ ***Mr. Sandman- The Chordettes (1954)**_

 _ ***Pistol Packin' Mama- Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters (1943)**_


	20. Schmoozing, Plotting and Hyenas

_**Haus Der** **Toten; The 95th Hunger Games**_  
 ** _Capitol Interlude:  
"Of Schmoozing, Plotting and Hyenas."_**

* * *

 ** _The DeWynter Country Club,  
21 Excelsior Crescent  
Elysium Heights Sector, Capitol City.  
May 16_** ** _th_** ** _, 2158, 9pm._**

* * *

 _ **Zenobia Rivendell, District 2, Aged 34**_  
 _ **Victor of the 79th Hunger Games**_

* * *

 _Capitolites_ . . . They're materialistic, overly vapid, oversexed and shallow creatures. On the other hand, they _sure knew how_ to party.

That is- the _DeWynter_ family knows how to party. Being one of the richest and most prestigious of families within the Capitol, anyone who is a someone will show their face.

The crowd lets out a startled exclaim, bursting into cheers as a fellow party goer busts out a new bottle of champagne. Like kittens to milk, those nearby quickly zip over to the young man- chalices in hand - to get a glass of the beverage.

From the balcony I'm situated, I see guests are still pouring in from all over the city- packed into their cabriolets as they swerve into the curl-de-sac. Vice-President DeWynter's party seems to be attracting persons from _all_ the metropolises echelons. Federal ministers, actors, judges and assemblymen, bankers with blonde beauties on their arms, Gamemakers, decorated Peacekeepers and the socialites.

 _For Panem's sake_ \- even university sororities and fraternities seem to have made their way to this affair!

 _Now, Arab sheikhs on the burning sands,_  
 _Come into their harems and clap their hands,_  
 _Said, "Come on, girls, are you ready to play?_  
 _Let's have a little more of that swingin' today!"_

 _Now, in the land of Fu Manchu,_  
 _The girls all now do the Suzie-Q,_  
 _Clap their hands in the center of the floor,_  
 _Saying, "Ching, ching, chop-suey, swing some more!"_

 _Now, geisha girls in old Japan,_  
 _Wink behind their peacock fans,_  
 _Since they learned to say,_  
 _"Yeah! Let's swing it like Panemian's swing swing dance!"*_

All these groupings mix together to form a frenzied and unruly mass of people. Leading the circus is none other than Doris Mckenzie- Q _ueen_ of Electro Swing. Dressed in her signature short chiffon dress, feather boa, beaded necklaces and feather headband over her blonde bob- the crowd continues to jive, confetti raining down on the mob of guests as the District 3 Escort continues to sing the night away.

Perhaps I too would be doing The Peabody, Charleston or Turkey Trot, but alas, being a Victor allows little solace from your admirers, such as Attorney General Antonius Rose for example.

"Zenobia darling," moans Antonius. "I _can't wait_ for Aliyah to be crowned Victor. If she's _anything_ like you, I'd gladly pay double for _twice_ the company."

Panem's minister of justice leaves a trail of kisses down the side of my neck, his hand caressing my backside and the inside of my thighs while I sit on his lap. He's a opportunistic, one-pump chump deviant who _talks_ better than he _lays_.

 _However_ he's an opportunistic, one-pump chump deviant who sponsors my tributes _well_.

"You are aware, Minister Rose, that the girl is _homosexual?"_ I chide, taking a sip of wine. Resisting the urge to tear his throat open with my bare hands, I let out a faux giggle as he smooths over my dark locks and plants another kiss on the back of my neck.

"No matter, then I'll just watch the _two_ _of you_ go at it. More fun for me." he breathes. "Maybe dear Viondra could join us. I've always enjoyed swapping with her . . .".

Playing this role for for nearly twenty years, I flash him a smile as I cup his cheeks in my hand. "That sounds _absolutely_ _lovely,_ Minister Rose."

We continue to lounge in this position, sipping on wine, me listening to him drone on about the difficulties of being the top official in charge of Panem's judicial system. _Thanks be to the gods_ I'm saved by Glisten, Victor of the 89th Hunger Games, as he gently eases his way through the crowds to our position.

"Ah, Glisten," greets Antonius. "What a pleasant surprise! Like Aliyah Marini, Luana looks like _quite the treat._ I'd be happy with either of them winning, I'm not complaining _one bit._ "

Glisten isn't having any of it. "I'm glad you like her Minister Rose," the twenty-one year old nods haphazardly, uninterested in Antonius' words as he clutches my shoulder.

"Do you mind if I borrow Zenobia for a while?"

He's about to offer his protest as young Estelle Romney among other socialite daughters, strut onto the balcony. "Please, go ahead! She's all yours." he purrs as he begins his stride towards the group of young women, leaving the two of us to slip away.

* * *

We saunter out into the expansive backyard . . . or _field_ I should say, dotted with tiny lights that lace the hedges and trees. The river is only a couple hundred meters from the mansion itself. The mountains are in clear view, contrasting well with the pink sky. There are a few tables and tents placed throughout the field as well as a large stage, where the band currently plays _"Sing Sing Sing"_ as a couple of party goers dance the night away. Fellow District 2 Victor Cassius Romano, already drunk by the looks of things, grinds against Doris on stage.

"Do the others know about our little meeting?" I hiss, gently moving past party goers as Glisten follows hot on my tail. We pause every now and then, signing autographs and posing for selfies with our adoring groupies.

"Yep, I made sure Rouge told the other Escorts to spread the word to their respective Victor." he nods, winking towards Persephone Trump as she brushes a hand across his chest. "Some of them are already at the spot."

I nod. _good_ , I could say for once in my twenty years of being in the thick of Capitol politics, I actually _like_ this generation of Escorts. Sure they were all airheaded, but they were _reliable airheads_. Since President Kane's announcement, we haven't had much time to come together and iron out the details following the aftermath. Sure, things may seem fine and dandy among the average citizenry . . . but among the politicians and shot-callers, trouble was brewing.

This generation of Victors like the generation prior, were always _always_ caught in the middle.

With stern nods to each of our specie, slowly but surely, every Victor discreetly makes their way towards the catering tent closest to the river.

* * *

Inside the white marquee is an expansive table, covered with a white tablecloth and decked with food and drink. I join my fellow Twos as Mum sits at the head of the table. Gwendolyn is situated beside her, flashing me a sheepish smile as she dips her head right back into the PDA she swipes at.

Slowly, the tent begins to fill with all the Victors post-Second Rebellion. The Ones- lead by Serene and Kaiser, the Fours, the drunken Sixes, so on and so forth. The most recent, younger Victors of the nineties decade appear confused, but remain attentive all the while.

"Alright, what's all the hubbub about? I dunno 'bout _y'all_ , but District 10 is going through a _prohibition_ of sorts!" grumbles Annabelle as she plops down on a seat, goblet in hand. "I need'ta take it all in while I still can, s'pecially with tomorrah! I don't think I even _wanna_ be coherent!"

This earns grumbles from the morphling two-point-oh's, as Mum waves a dismissive hand towards the Eighty-Third Victor.

"Within a couple months or a year, we might not be _alive_ to enjoy a pint anyway!" snaps Mum. "Now, I'm sure you've all heard the news about the _disbanding of the Hunger Game_ s by good ol' _Uncle Kane_?"

"He's a _traitor_ ," announces Clarence of District 11, to the glares from his sister and Zinnia. "Clearly, he's violating the Treaty of Treason thus the Constitution of Panem with such an action."

This earns stern nods from the Career Districts, and looks of scorn from the outliers. The tension, that Career-Outlier divide is rearing its head once again. The male morphling, Koller, appears to take a different stance from Clarence.

" _Wha?_ I'm so sorry Clarence . . ." he says, jostling his head as he pretends to clear his ears. "I couldn't hear you with all that _Captiol COCK_ in your mouth!"

This earns a round of guffaws from around the table, only for it to be silenced as Nana bangs her bony fist against the table.

"For _YOU_ he might be a lapdog, but for me, Mister Clarence is only looking out for our _best interests_."

"Pffffft, _Please_ Berglind," snorts Celosia of District 7- Victor of the Eighty-First. "Our best interests are being well served with Kane _in power!"_

"If he wants to end the Games, more power to him baby!" adds the female morphling . . . _Silvia_ was her name?

Piper Malveaux seems to agree. "IN _YOUR_ best interest maybe. With your giant academies, District 1 and 2 would have a _lot_ _to lose_ if the Games end." she quips, her arms folded as she takes a drag from her cigarette. "What _would_ your purpose be, really?"

"He's the President, no?" pipes up Zinnia of District 11, "They teach me in civics class that whatever he says goes, so what's the argument?"

"That's where you're wrong, kiddo." I say, snapping a finger towards the kid. "Remember, the war just ended a decade ago. The system is still in transition mode."

All eyes turn to Gwendolyn of District 3- our egghead among our pool of Victors- besides Griffin Naysmith from my District of course.

"I-I-I-It's true . . . O-other than mm-making r-regulations and p-passing the occasional law, the National Assembly is _useless_." she frowns, brushing a blonde lock from her eye.

Zenira Inchcape of the Eighty-Second Games raises a hand. "What does that mean? That the other politicians are _powerless_ to stop Kane?"

Gwen jostles her head. "M-M-M-More or l-less but not entirely. Judging by these internal documents, I'm surprised the president is still _alive_. We haven't had a fully fledged government in _decades_."

Griffin places a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Too much infighting, conflicting agendas . . . I too am surprised he hasn't died in a _'hoverplane'_ accident."

"Ya'll would be pretty _fuckin_ ' dumb to try and off him." says Paisley. "I'd bet in the lower Districts due to his policies, jus' like in District 11, that he's _quite_ the popular man."

Francisco, usually the outspoken one, finally raises a hand. "What does this information mean for _us_ though?"

"It _means,"_ chimes Kaiser, "That we need to tread _carefully_ , as anything can happen between now and the Fourth Quarter Quell."

A pregnant pause floods the room as we each exchange cautious nods. I don't believe the population is hungry for another war . . . but the continuation of the games or even the discontinuation could cause a chain of events that if _we_ as _Victors_ take a side, we _all_ get implicated. Just like the _Second Rebellion_.

"So, what are our marching orders?" asks Ainsley.

Mum reclines in her chair, resting her hands on her stomach. "We will take a position of _non-partisanship_. If the press, _Snow_ , even if our groupies on the street ask for your opinion, you remain _neutral_. Then, if anything kicks off, our hands are clean." she scans the room from left to right, making eye contact with each and every one of her cohorts.

"I respect all of you immensely. Unlike the _pitiful_ outsiders of my generation, you've managed to adjust to the status quo instead of sulking and bolstering your stance based on _hypocrisy_. _Remember_ , if our hands are clean, so are your _families and friends'_."

A smile appears on her weathered face as the others appear much more convinced from ten minutes ago.

"So," I breathe, taking a drag of Cassius' fag as I smack my lips, returning it to him. "Are we all on the same page concerning how we move forward?"

I smirk as mutters of agreement ring out throughout the marquee.

 _Good,_ all they needed was a reminder that there was much more to the world than themselves. We can ill-afford another squabble resulting in us being wiped off the face of the continent again.

"Excellent. Now how about we hit the bar, yeah? They've been cutting us dry in District 2 too, Starling."

* * *

 ** _Gideon Montresor, aged 56_**  
 ** _Chief of Staff to the President of Panem._**

* * *

"I wish Kane wouldn't be such a damn _prick_ and make the girls available to those willing to shell out the coin." he scoffs.

Adjusting my spectacles as I peer upward from my drink, I watch Antonius as he gazes off towards the nearby dance floor. What in _Panem's name_ did this man just say?

"I'm sorry, Antonius?" I say, my voice incredulous as incredulous _could be_.

"The _nineties_ girls, Montresor." he purrs, licking his lips as he nods his head towards the circle of the most recent Victors out of the '90-'94th Games.

The burdens of mentoring and the slaying of fellow tributes still not manifesting due to their fresh victories and young age, Joyceta, Gwen and Zinnia dance among themselves without a care in the world as Doris Mckenzie continues to sing the night away with her popular electro-swing. Unlike the pool of Victors before them, it's satisfying to see them not on the path to self destruction in the form of substance abuse or futile rebellious tendencies.

"It should be _illegal_ to keep such nymphets off limits." he chuckles, sipping his brandy. "I _adore_ how they're all _different_ flavors- Latina heat, nerdy vanilla and sweet _ebony chocolate._ Kane doesn't know how much he's missing out on, _teasing_ instead of _utilizing_ them.".

"We have enough Panem's sweethearts," he continues with an annoyed snarl. "Time to start _breaking_ them in, Panem knows I'd be the first . . ."

The more I gaze back towards the innocent youths, then over to the leering man beside me . . . the more unappealing my wine becomes. Fortunately, I cut across the sea of guests to see Celosia waving me over to her table. I know that his musings were anything _but_ drunken thoughts, but for my sake I'll treat them as such.

"Do me a favor Antonius?" I say, patting the man on his back as he gazes up at me. "Try to take it easy on the drinks; they make you say the most _peculiar_ things."

With that said and done, I leave the Justice Minister to his perverted thoughts as I find myself sitting down with the closest thing to a daughter I'll ever have- Celosia Vale of District 7. I knew the young woman quite well, her parents run an amazing inn for tourists in Olympia.

"Hey Giddie, I believe you owe me a _commendation_?" the ginger smiles warmly, baring her whites as she calls for an Avox to serve us. We both agree on sparkling wine, straight from the vineyards of District 1.

I nod, reaching into my breast pocket. "Of course Miss Vale, anything for those willing to go above and beyond for their nation."

I retrieve a velvet box, opening it up to reveal a circular medal with crimson and gold ribbons. It depicts an eagle clutching a compass in its talons. On the reverse side is the inscription - _NOSTRUM UT REVELES_ _\- ours to discover._

"On behalf of the president and the people of Panem, take this Excursion Star as a gesture of our gratitude. You are pivotal in discovering the . . . _yadda, yadda, yadda_ \- _thank you,_ Celosia." I wink, pinning the medal to the strap of her dress.

"You're _most welcome_ Gideon; I'd gladly do it again, it beats mentoring any day of the week." I wince as she slugs me in the shoulder and then snaps a goofy salute. "How's your sister Loreinne doing?"

With a grin, I raise a finger to answer her question- only for a vibration from my pant leg to interrupt my thoughts.

" _We need more wine, would you kindly get some more from the basement downstairs? P.S- take Hyperion with you, he has an affinity for vintage spirits."_ _  
_ _-D.W"_

Celosia must've noticed my face narrow, as she frowns. "You okay, Giddie?"

I give a noncommittal grunt, eyeing Head Gamemaker Hyperion as he laughs obnoxiously to a joke. "Everything is fine my dear. _Unfortunately_ , work is ebbing away at my leisure. Loreinne's birthday is coming up in August, I'll be sure to send for you when the time is appropriate, okay?"

She nods, accepting a hug and a kiss on the cheek as I stride toward Mister Hyperion. As I walk, my warm leer is replaced with a pragmatic thin line.

* * *

In the Capitol, politics is the most dangerous game a person could ever play.

Luckily being a bureaucrat, people like myself only serve at the pleasure of the fanatics and cutthroats that constantly vie for power within our system of governance. During the tail-end of the Snow Administration, I've seen many a person extinguished for various rationales. Did they deserve it? Some did, but not all of them. If one were to look at Snow's psyche, he would most likely base his reasoning on ' _preservation_ '. However, his like most politicians of our day, ideas are over-the-top when a more _rational alternative_ could be found.

Vice-President Viondra DeWynter is _one_ of those politicians. The following potential situation, though justifiable, is an example of the wasteful mentality of those in power.

"Gideon, budday!" Thames drunkenly exclaims as he embraces me, his tie goofily wrapped around his forehead. "How are you this fine evening? Aristella and I were just talking about how _uninspiring_ this wine tastes."

"Yes, hello Thames. I see you're enjoying the festivities!" I reply, patting his shoulder. "I agree, the wine of the present is _dreadfully_ dull, which is why Viondra asked that we bring out Chardonnay from the cellar downstairs."

" _Chardonnay_ , my friend?" his face lights up with glee. "The wine itself must be _centuries_ old! What year is it!?"

"I believe Viondra procured a bottle from the year _1995_."

A Cheshire grin spreads across his face as he links arms with mine. "Well, what in Snow's name are we waiting for!? I need a glass of that before everyone else gets their lousy _gobs_ on it, let's go!"

* * *

We continue on through the indoor crowds and inebriated guests eating each others face, though the expansive hallways and down towards the sub-levels where the 'wine cellar' would be located. Between the two of us- _mostly him_ \- we share a flask of brandy and half a bottle of champagne. The man could barely hold his own, his legs becoming the equivalent to putty as he clutches onto a nearby table with a drunken chuckle.

"Thames my friend, you're as drunk as outlier Victor! Are you sure you're able to carry on forward?"

"But-but of course my friend!" he pants, taking a breath as he sways back and forth. " _1995_! That's more than enough inspiration to keep me going. Chardonnay, Chardonnay, Chardonnay! It's been quite a while since I've had a spirit as old as it!"

And so, we continue through the sub-levels, coming up upon the floor Viondra had instructed me to enter. Like President Snow and his rose garden and Kane with his grandchildren, DeWynter seems to have an affinity for the hunt. Hung up across the walls were pelts of animals both common and arcane in this day and age. Locked behind pristine glass cases were hunting rifles and various fur stoles. The occasional photograph could be seen- showcasing the woman posing with foreign tribes and kings.

"DeWynter is a weird case, my friend." laughs Thames, his tie flopping all the while. "These trophies continue to further my uneasiness about the woman . . ."

I present him with a flask, smirking all the while as I jostle the container around. "How about we drink away those fears with a little District 7 cider?"

With a lopsided grin, he takes the cider from my hands and takes a large swig. "The districts do alcohol better justice than us Capitols." he says as he wipes his lips.

We progress through DeWynter's hall of trinkets, the air becoming much more muggy and humid. "How much longer until the wine cellar, Montresor?" splutters Thames as he hacks away in a rough coughing fit. "The air is as thick as the jungles of old South America."

I motion him through the glass sliding doors. "Just through here friend, we'll be having Chardonnay before you know it."

Through the sliding doors is an expansive circular two-floor pavilion- the culprit of the arid-like heat we've been experiencing in these sub-levels. The pavilion simulated a jungle of sorts, with palm trees and dark green shrubs alongside a pool of water. It was akin to a zoo display brought to one's home for their own personal enjoyment.

In drunken surprise, Thames shambles over to the guardrail as he peers into the exhibit. If one were to say . . . _saunter behind him and tip his foot_ , he would tumble over _no problem_.

"Interesting display DeWynter has here!" he coos in awe. "I wonder what she keeps inside . . ."

My heart throbbing in my ears, I begin my approach. "That my friend, is where Viondra keeps her _Chardonnay_."

"She keeps the Chardonnay in there, where!?"

I'm beside the Head Gamemaker now, hand gently clasped around his shoe as I point towards a cavern. "Lean further in, you see that cave over there?"

Another fit of drunken laughter wracks his frame as half his body is now over the rail. "I think I can see it now! How do we enter?"

With a frown, my grip around his shoe intensifies.

"I believe we enter like _this._ "

With a gentle push forward, Thames lets out a startled yell as he tumbles two floors into the pavilion. Stained by the dirt and shrubs, he begins to brush himself off, cackling at _Panem_ knows what. He seems unaware of what awaits him in the cavern ahead.

"Ha ha ha ha ha! It appears I'm stained with _dirt_! No worry, as a sip of the coveted Chardonnay will mediate this!" he turns to me now. "Are you coming down, Gideon?"

My arms folded, I simply shake my head. "I am afraid not, old friend."

Thames shrugs. "More for me I suppose!" the man cheers as he stumbles over a hill towards the cavern. He's about half way there before the dark cave comes alight with two pairs of yellowed eyes, stagnant and unblinking. An unnerving laugh emits from the cave as Thames' drunken smile instantly flips to an uneasy frown.

The Head Gamemaker adjusts his collar as he continues to shamble forward. "Is anyone there? There'd better be a drop left for me when I get there!"

Thames stops mid walk, as Viondra's muttated hyenas- Mars and Jupiter- begin to slink out of their den and encircle the man. Over-sized, dispiriting and ferocious beasts, they serve as another example of DeWynter's fascination with the hunt.

Their cackles continue to grow louder and louder, as the two striped dogs saunter ever closer to the inebriated man- their claws extended and their fangs bared.

"Umm . . . Gideon my friend, I believe we have a problem on our hands!"

"Unfortunately," I deadpan, moving towards the stairs as Thames begins to backpedal, "There is no problem here. I'm sorry old friend but loose lips, sink ships. If only they just shot or avoxed you. _Unfortunately_ , we Capitols always seem to choose _extreme_ measures than moderated ones to solve our problems."

I begin my descent down the second level of the pavilion, ignoring the shrill screams and pained cries that mix in with the snarls and barks the beasts emit from the exhibit. Making my exit, I stumble backwards as his body- bloodied and battered - splays against the glass with a loud _thump,_ leaving a trail of blood as he slumps downward. My eyes meet his frenzied ones, as the man mouths for mercy while the dogs continue to gnaw away at his body.

"Montresor, _Gideon Montresor!_ For Panem's sake, help me!" he gargles, groaning as a blot of blood oozes out of his mouth and onto the glass.

Pursing my lips, I nod once towards the bloodied man. " _Yes_ , for _Panem's_ sake."

With a tap of a few buttons, I polarize the glass and continue the walk back towards the party, his screams continuing to echo throughout the sub-levels with no one to come to his aide.

Rest well old friend. I'm sorry it had to come to such a needless conclusion.

* * *

*= _**Parov Stelar "Booty Swing"**_


	21. Ready, Set, Launch

_**Haus Der Toten; 95th Hunger Games  
"Ready, Set, Launch." **_

* * *

_**Merlyn Edian, 17, District 2**_

* * *

"Mum, I just wanted to say _thank you_."

With a sip of her tea, she places the cup on the table with her eyebrows raised. "What's there to thank me for, dearie?"

I scoff softly, smiling as Miss Jonsdottir shakes her head slightly in confusion. "Well? Go on boy, I'm listening."

"Well . . . I wanted to thank you for the years of wisdom you've instilled in me." I say with a stern nod. "Without Corbulo Academy's structure and your tutelage, I would be just another _quarryman's_ son with more talk than sense."

She hums in agreement, sipping her tea as she cups her hands with mine.

"Ours is a noble system, the 'Career' program." she inclines. "While the other Districts see the Games as punishment, we - as well as our cousins in the other districts - take our penance with stride, knowing that the very fabric of our nation is preserved by our tribute."

"In victory _and_ death?" I inquire, as she raises the cup to her lips.

She bobs her head once, setting the cup back down. "Both victors _and_ vanquished have a part to play."

My heart twinges at her words. In _CAMS_ - _Corbulo Academy of Military Science_ \- the instructors always drilled us on _success success success,_ by _any_ means necessary. When she agreed, it gave me a sense of . . . self assurance? At least if the worst case scenario occurs, I would still be considered 'valuable', not discarded because I ' _wasn't up for the task_ '.

Fortunately, that scenario won't be occurring because I _will_ win. Where my allies show excessive ego and the constant need for praise, I show . . . well, _nothing_ but the bare minimum, as per The Marceline Devereaux Show.

"It has been an amazing seventeen years overseeing you, Merlyn." she soothes, pinching my cheek gently all the while. "Your granddad would be absolutely proud of you. No go," she gestures to my allies, who lounge on the couch in the living room. "You have some final plans to draft before the big day. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

I smile while I give her one last pat on the hand as I drift over to my pack, saying my hello to our Escort Olivia as I crash beside Nicolao. Aliyah nods my way as a panel from _PBC_ give an analysis of each tribute on the television mounted to the wall.

"What did you think about the District 11 girl and her little show tonight?" asks Skylar as she slurps on a milkshake.

Aliyah shrugs. "A futile but appreciated effort, No one in their _right mind_ would sponsor a younger tribute for that reason alone."

Luana raises a hand. "I've seen her run a gauntlet and climb a tree pretty well. If she has a moment to showcase her skill, sponsors might give her a glance regardless."

"She _was_ voted most favorable tribute in a 'popular' sense," adds Nicolao. "That would also make her a target for the reasons Luana stated."

This earns mumbles of agreement from around the living room, as Aliyah chomps a whole strawberry in one bite.

"Alright, our current game plan is ' _anything goes_ ', if the arena calls for It." she shrugs, reaching for another piece of fruit. "The Eight boy, Rafaela and those nosebleeds from Seven, _all_ of them are targets. Every, single, tribute. Once the gong goes off, put in as much work as you can, then regroup once things settle down, okay?"

The response is a resounding nod from each and every one of us. We have a capable group this year with a simple plan. I don't see why it wouldn't yield the results we seek.

* * *

 ** _Occo Barst, 16, Distirct 5_**

* * *

"So, we connect the yellow wire and the blue wire, and then fuse it _together_ with the single red one?"

I nod, sketching the diagram of our trap all the while. "Then we need a conduit to store the energy. It can travel in multiple directions, so the snare method or even a 'landmine' style trap would work like _magic_."

Valentina nods slightly, stopping as her face contorts into a frown. "What happens if we don't have an ideal arena?"

I chew on the leg of my eyeglasses. " . . . Then we'll always have our punji sticks and spiked ball trap.."

She still looks unsatisfied. "And if we _still_ don't have an ideal arena? What if they do something _really_ weird this year?"

I shrug, grimacing inwardly at the possibility of not having an arena to work with. "Then we'll have to rely on the old fashioned method. It's nothing a basic club, branch or brick can't fix."

Piper and our Escort Quinton continue to watch on from the other end of the table. Judging by the looks on their faces, they feel much more elated than they were after the reaping and the train ride out.

"I'm very proud of you guys for quelling all the doubt and stereotypes people boxed you in." says Piper. " _Snow_ , even _I'm_ slightly surprised you guys pulled off that joint nine . . ."

Quinton seems to agree. "Piper darling, these two have done _more_ than that!" he drawls. "In fact, you two have drawn in a _healthy_ following! If you guys just play it smart, I don't see how you can fail!"

Valentina and I exchange glances. I'm assuming that my features reflect hers- one of hopefulness. Just the other day we were written off as a bunch of kooks, and now here we are as _viable_ competition. _Who cares_ if the arena isn't ideal, maybe we'll get sponsors to kick start a trap? With sponsors, we get an extension, a _renewal_.

. . . Maybe I can transfer that renewal to Mom, Dad and my siblings?

I glance at Valentina who continues to dunk her cookies into a glass of milk, drinking it while the cookies remain at the bottom- to Quinton's annoyed chiding about table manners. For my renewal to happen, _she too_ would need to die. What about Cveta and _her_ family?

 _Nuh-uh,_ we'll cross that bridge when we get there. As long as they're still live, the other tributes need to be dealt with.

* * *

 ** _Evara Winslett, 15, District 3_**

* * *

As I sit here, finishing the final bites of the apple pie served to me, I can't help but think _'hey . . . this will be the last dessert that'll ever grace my lips.'_ And to top it all off, the 'normalcy', the way people are so cordial about the whole process, all of it all just _irritates_ me. Going from A to B, wake up, breakfast, train for a deathmatch, dinner then sleep again . . . I'm surprised at myself for feeling so desensitized to it all.

Then again, I guess that's what a _century_ of this stuff does to people.

"So," I sigh, swallowing the remainder of my pie. "Tomorrow is the big day . . ."

Gwen smiles faintly, exhaling through her nose as she nods. "P-p-pretty mm-much, yeah."

"Do you have any last advice for me?"

"Like w-w-what?" she mumbles, visibly unnerved about the conversation.

"I dunno, anything I guess." I shrug, smiling as an Avox serves me a glass of water. "It's mostly for reassurance, _if anything_."

Gwen shakes her head, apparently at a loss of words. "Unfortunately, there's not much advice to give." she says, caressing her shoulder. "No m-m-mmatter how much advice we give year after y-year, it doesn't make much of a difference."

I raise a finger to counter her claim, only for her to jut up her hand- cutting me off.

"Like you s-ssaid during your interview, you h-hope that your tenacity and cc-confidence will give you the edge over your competition. Rely on those traits, just as I relied on my brains. Hopefully, it'll see you through.

Now _that_ seems slightly reassuring. Hone in on the Evara that stalked the Careers who were entirely unaware she was there. Hone in on the Evara who defended James against Vincent.

Hone in on _Evara_ \- the girl who was _unlike_ the other _typical stringbeans_ that hail from District 3. I can and I will.

* * *

 ** _Cian Landon, 18, District 11_**

* * *

 _Berglind Jonsdittir, female tribute representing District 2 during the 3rd Hunger Games, quickly snaps into action as the pistol fires. It's interesting to see how much more primitive the Games were back then. It was just a simple arena, a stadium of sorts. Capitolites cheering for the blood they craved._

 _The young woman sprints to the cornucopia, selecting a scythe as she moves to engage the other tributes coherent enough to get off their pedestals and select a weapon. How someone masters such a cumbersome weapon is beyond me. Berglind hacks, whacks and eviscerates her competition as they tried to engage her. Two hours later, after finishing off the exhausted District 6 male, Berglind raises her bloodied scythe into the air to thunderous applause. President Snow Senior could be seen in a VIP box of sorts, chatting amiably with his wife over Berglind's victory as they applaud. Cradled in his wife's hand, is presumably the most recent President Snow._

 _"There we have it ladies and gentlemen! BERGLIND JONSDOTTIR- VICTOR OF THE THIRD HUNGER GAMES!" roars a man by the name of Cornelius Estevez. "_ I swear as we keep going on, these Games are getting BETTER AND BETTER!"

His co-host launches himself out of his seat, bursting with joy. "It was a spectacle, a _slobberknocker_ , a _bloody_ melee! . . . A, a-"

Cornelius and his co-host turn to each other, a identical expression of euphoria spread across their features. "A _BLOODBATH!_ "

"I like that, a bloodbath . . . a _cornucopia bloodbath_."

* * *

 _"So what,"_ I deadpan, adjusting my position in my lounger. "You want us to kill mindlessly like a Career?"

"C'mon man, if you wanna get out of that arena alive you'll be a murderer, regardless of your 'morals'." scoffs Tybalt as he shuts off the television. "Listen, say whatever you want about the Careers, but the strategy employed by Berglind was a perfect one."

Herrick raises a hand as Tybalt paces past. "These games were roughly one hundred years ago. Everyone has kind of caught on to the whole 'move your butts' memo."

Tybalt nods. " _Yes_ , but a variation of what Berglind did here wouldn't hurt." he says. "When everyone is distracted by the frenzy, we'll try and pick up a kill or two, it shows we're willing and capable."

"So we get sponsors and stuff?" I inquire.

"Exactly." answers Tybalt. With that being said, the room falls into a momentary silence. "So," announces Tybalt as he plops down in the seat beside me. "Tonight may very well be our _last_ night."

"I suppose that's true." agrees Herrick. I'm surprised when the District 3 boy juts his hands towards Tybalt and me. After a split second pause, we all engage in a handshake. They've made for really good acquaintances this past week or so. If things were different, we all could've been good friends.

"Regardless of what happens in there, it's been a good couple of days." nods Herrick, earning a 'likewise' from myself and a Tybalt. We go over the strategy one last time, before Herrick and Tybalt leave for their respective floors.

* * *

"So, what type of birdie are you?" I seethe, eyeing Clarence as he waltzes in through the elevator. "A ' _backstabbing_ ' birdie, a ' _lapdog_ ' birdie?"

The Victor casually shrugs off the insults. "I was only making sure the Capitol was aware of your family and their transgressions about them."

"Even if that means the death of your fellow citizen who has a good chance of coming out alive?"

The man frowns, a first for the pompous loyalist. " . . . That's up for the Capitol to decide."

I scoff, waving him off as he shrugs once again and saunters into his room. I'll show him and the rest of those Capitols that I am redeemed.

If it means partaking in tomorrow, then so be it . . .

* * *

 ** _Nicolao "Nic" Lucritus, 14, Snow Island_**

* * *

"How's this going to work?"

Captain Onassis groans in annoyance as Melanie tries to undo his tie. She sits playfully on his lap, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth as she fidgets with the accessory. "Oh relax, you big _baby_. I'd imagine being a Peacekeeper, feminine touch isn't something you're used to.

"I'm stationed on _Isla Nieve,_ I know it all too well . . ." he smirks as Melanie pouts, resuming her work as he turns back to me. "I'm sorry Nic, how is _what_ going to work?"

I hum in thought, looking towards the balcony in which Rafaela tinkers with her token on a hammock, deep in her thoughts I guess as Francisco lounges with her. Meanwhile, Joyceta, Onassis, Melanie and I finish up with dinner. Quite possibly, if things don't go smoothly, this'll be one of my last full meals I'll ever eat.

"You know, with Rafaela being in a rival alliance and me being in the Career pack." I say. "You said we had a good following, so how will sponsorship go, or help in general?"

Joyceta glances toward Melanie, who glances at Onassis.

"Well, for practicality sake, we'll be focusing more on Rafaela than you."

I can't help but twinge with nervousness and annoyance at his answer. " _Why_ might I ask?"

He glances at Joyceta. "Joyceta, you need the practice, _why_ would I withhold sponsorship from Nic in exchange for more focus on Rafaela?"

Joyceta glances up from her dinner, caressing her cheek. " _Because_ . . . since Nicolao is in a power alliance, he has access to better supplies than Rafaela will. So that means Rafaela is at a disadvantage?"

"Smart girl," he quips with a wink. "So now you see why I made the decision I did? Of course you'll still be considered, but seeing it from Rafaela's shoes . . ."

I nod. Rafaela is no longer one of us, which means she's regarded of lower stature- possibly. It's the least I could do for her, knowing that I watched as she was alienated by Aliyah and marked for death.

* * *

"Oye," I announce, stepping onto the balcony. "¿Rafaela es gratis?"

Francisco and Rafaela glance at me, exchanging looks as Rafaela motions me over.

"Alright, I'll see you guys inside, alright?" says the thirteen year old Victor, patting me on the back gently as he eases his way past me. With the wind blowing a gentle spring breeze our way, I settle myself beside her. The skyline looks amazing, with its giant steel buildings and gargoyle statures, It reminds me of Havana- the way the city lights up with a flurry of colours, all contrasting well against the lake shore.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" she breathes, eyeing me with her hazel orbs.

I frown, swaying my head. "I suppose so."

She nods once, caressing her token- a family ring of sorts. We remain silent for a while, listening to the chants of " _Hunger, Hunger, Hunger_!" from down below.

"Listen" I begin, my eyes focused on the city square below as the crowd lets out another cheer. "I'm sorry about not following your lead during the whole leader _lucha._ "

"Why be sorry? You were only looking out for yourself." Rafaela retorts, crossing one leg over the other. "And now here I am, marked for death," she laughs a bitter laugh, resting her head on the other end of the hammock."

Here's hoping I can pull a fast one on your allies tomorrow, eh Nic? Maybe if they catch me, they'll make you do it rather than Aliyah. I'd prefer that to be honest."

My heart pangs out in sorrow, a sorrow I don't have words to place on. On the other hand her plight benefits me, _one less person on my list to worry about, no?_

I shake the thought from my head. We hail from the same island, we're blood - _sangre._ Even if we're not related, our connection with Isla Nieve trumps _any_ Career pack.

I just wish I had the gall to act out on my thoughts. I suppose that ship has sailed, however. Or maybe, I _could_ redeem myself; make it up to her somehow.

 _If only the solution was clearer._

* * *

 ** _Orville Mullen, 13, District 6_**

* * *

We might _die_ tomorrow.

Marcia and I are sat in a reclining sofa on my floor's living room, one large glass filled with chocolate triple thick milkshake- one straw for me, one for her - and a large blanket to keep us warm as one of those Capitol action films plays in the background. I could feel the warmth radiating off her skin as her head lies against my shoulder, her leg right up against mine. I could even feel her body gently rising up and down with each breath she takes. We kinda just eased into the position and got used to it, _I guess._

I see it all the time at school, at the local diner, other kids holding hands and what not. Now that I'm experiencing it for myself, it feels so awkward, yet so right . . .

"Doesn't a Victor from District 1 play the main character in this?" she asks.

I nod. "I think his name is Kaiser Von Delight, he has another one coming out in August, _and everyone_ was talking about it when my school let out for the semester."

She scrounges her nose in confusion. "What type of last name is _Von Delight?_ "

"It's _District 1,_ " I shrug. "They always have really dumb names."

We laugh softly, eventually falling back into silence. I think back to the interviews just a couple hours ago, being taken aback by her amazing singing skills. Maybe it'll help us along the way, _if_ we make it that is. If the worst does occur, Marcia being the ray of sunshine that she is, would have _tons_ of people who would miss her at home. How could a girl be so lucky to have such great talent, only for it to be squandered because of a randomized lottery?

I stir a little bit as Marcia grips onto my arm. "I've come around to your point of view, Orville."

"What point of view is that, Marcia?"

"The high chance of us not making it past the first five minutes." she frowns. "I do like how they gave me one last chance to at least have a taste of my wildest dream- to sing on a grand stage. At least I'll be remembered on a rerun or something . . ."

 _'Mix those things altogether, your team, Marcia, your training as well as your yearning for something better and apply it in the arena- its **fool** proof. You're competent, that's all one needs- **competence**.'_

"On the flip-side," I say, easing towards the milkshake and taking a sip from it. "I was beginning to agree with your mentality."

From the corner of my eye I watch as she cracks a small smile, easing her straw into her mouth. "Really, why is that?"

I nod once, turning towards her with a smile on my face. "If we're smart about our movements, I don't see why you and I don't have a chance. If I have to take it one day at a time, I'll take it with you. Marcia Mata, my good friend."

"I'd like that a lot, _buddy_." she replies, her small smile now a full blown grin.

"Orville Mullen and Marcia Mata versus the _world_ , if _only_ for a little while."

* * *

 ** _Landry Danton, 15, District 7_**

* * *

"Psst," chides a male voice. "Landry darling, it's time to wake up girl."

My eyes snap open, only for Connor to be sitting at the foot of bed as he caresses my foot.

"Today is the day my dear." he says, frowning as he gestures to the closet. "Choose any outfit you want, we'll be waiting downstairs for breakfast."

I simply nod; forcing a smile as the young Escort gently taps my leg one last time before leaving. So, today is the day eh? I look out towards the blue _8:00 AM_ that beams at me from the clock on the dresser, then towards the depolarized windows. The day is a bleak as the feelings that many tributes alongside their family and friends must be feeling or _will_ be feeling today.

Ma . . . _Pop,_ I doubt they got sleep _at all_ last night. Bless them; they have so much to lose if the worst _does_ happen.

Showered and dressed in jeans and a sleeveless blouse, I slowly make my way downstairs to see the rest of my team already seated. Tamir seems just as shaken as I am, shooting a pleasant smile my way as he continues to slowly nibble at his breakfast.

Celosia's eyes catch mine, as she swallows her food and motions for me to take a seat. I nod my thanks to the Avox who pulls a chair out for me and settle on pancakes to eat, topped with a tall glass of apple juice.

If this was going to be my last breakfast, 'mise well be my favorite?

"So, Celosia," I begin, sipping from my apple juice. _Snow_ my hands are shaking something fierce. How long were they like this? "Do you have any last words for us?"

Her blue eyes dart over to mines. "Based on what you've been telling me, it's for the best that you stay _away_ from the cornucopia." she presses firmly, inclining her head and holding it for a full second or two. "When a Career has a vendetta, best stay out of their line of sight or reap what you sow."

Tamir raises his hand. "What . . . _instances_ would you recommend we take a shot at rushing the cornucopia?"

Our mentor ponders his question, her cybernetic arm caressing her chin as she hums in thought. "Sometimes, the launch pods are dozens of feet away . . . thirty feet at max. Unless you're really determined, it takes a couple minutes for all the tributes to close in and meet at the mouth, giving you ample time to pick something and leave."

My stomach lurches as I swallow a bite of my breakfast. "I don't think it's a good idea to go _regardless_. I'm more than willing to partake, but I know my chances when I see them . . ."

Celosia nods. "Me either. The Ones and Two's- apparently being military trained and all . . . its brutal how they clean house so _methodically_." she chuckles- albeit dryly, flashing her prosthetic arm our way.

"As you can see here, I _barely_ got out after going toe-to- with one of them."

I remember Celosia's games. The District 2 male manhandled her like a baby does an object it fancies. I remember hearing the audible _crack!_ as his mace collided with her arm, rendering it limp as he dragged it into a vat of acid. Her arm was in ribbons as she cried out in sheer agony. What if they get a hold of _me_? Sure, most of them seemed tame, but that's because the games _haven't_ started yet. What happens if Mom, Dad, Everett and Birch see it too? Oh Panem, it'd _ruin_ them! What if they close down the tavern, squander their money on drugs and drink like dozens of other families across the District?!

 _Oh no . . ._

"Sometimes . . . they're a little bit _too_ eager." Celosia continues, jabbing a spoon at the both of us. "It's happened in my Games, countless others. A rock, a dagger on the outskirts, their _bare_ hands . . . Hope you're not next to one, or that they fixed their sights on a weapon. It would suck to get your neck wrung or your face _curb stomped_ into a pedestal."

Shoving my chair aside and zooming past perplexed Avoxes, I scramble to the sink- retching loudly as my breakfast goes down the drain.

* * *

 ** _Luana Evison, 18, District 1_**

* * *

"Are you guys full?"

Glisten and Cessna smile as Vincent and I push ourselves away from the dining room table just to give us a little breathing room. They, alongside Kaiser and Zenira piled our plates with carbohydrates and a whole bunch of foods that'll apparently keep our energy levels high, enough to last us the day and maybe the next until we get situated in the arena.

 _The arena._

 _Years upon years_ of being yelled at by Second Rebellion veterans, spending _hours_ in a classroom preparing for all the various frills that the Games bring- have brought us here, on the _grandest stage_ of them all.

I'm nervous . . . but _excited_ at the same time! It's like the moments leading up to a class presentation. Your stomach clenches up each moment your teacher selects a name out of a hat, you get up out of your seat and slink your way to the front of the class- then you pour your heart out. Once you get into the swing of things, you feel much more comfortable.

Yes, that describes today to a _tee_. Today, I get to show the Capitol all my years of diligence and dexterity.

"I'm stuffed," says Vincent as I nod along in agreement. "I hope I'll be able to move once the gong goes off . . ."

"Well," I begin, "We could just _roll_ our way to the cornucopia?"

A pleasant round of light laughter is a welcoming sound, it eases the pre-game jitters.

"I think you guys will do just _splendid_." chirps Rouge, our mousy Escort as she caresses our shoulders.

"Of course they'll be fine," says Glisten as he finishes up his own breakfast. "The hoverplane ride to the arena will give you enough time to digest, and then another hour or two you'll have a light meal which will give you enough energy to last the initial bloodbath, then the next day."

I nod at this. I could only imagine how things must be for the outliers, _especially_ that weird kid from District 12. Knowing that half of them have to be pried from their floors crying and screaming gives me satisfaction.

"Sooo, do you have any last minute advice?" I ask, smiling as Cessna and Glisten exchange a quick glance with the other Victors, then among themselves as they turn back to Vincent and I.

"Nothing that ten years of training won't cover." answers Glisten. "Just play it smart and think things through and you'll be alright. When it comes to your alliance, be cordial- _strictly professional_ and you should last long enough."

"Sounds like a plan!" says Vincent as he claps his hands together, glancing over at me with a warm smile. He juts his hand out towards me.

"I just wanted to let you know, it's been a good couple of years and um . . . may the best tribute win." he nods.

It doesn't take a second for me to return the handshake. People like Vincent, Kite and Skylar were exceptional allies to have. We may not be the most 'chummy' of alliances but we know the stakes, what's expected of us as Career Tributes.

"Like I said on interview night," I say, pumping his hand. "You're here for me, I'm here for you. _Let's do this_."

* * *

 ** _Lumina Reiss, 17, District 12_**

* * *

"Try to find a vantage point for that crossbow, _if_ they have a crossbow."

"So you're saying that the cornucopia _is_ on the table for us?" I ask, albeit hurried.

Ainsley hesitates before nodding her head vigorously. "Both of you are capable enough to contend in my books. Just keep your eyes _peeled._ Get in, _get out_."

Just as I nod in understanding, my heart drops as I hear a chime from the elevator. We all rise out of our seats as squad of Peacekeepers barge in from the elevator. The lead Peacekeeper removes their helmet with a soft hiss to reveal a younger looking dark skinned woman- maybe a year or two older than Jai and I.

"Am I _correct_ in saying that this is the floor of District 12 tributes Jai Matisse and Lumina Reiss?" she asserts, her eyes scanning the room.

"Yes, yes you are." answers our Escort Francine with a hesitant smile.

"We are here to collect the tributes and escort them to the hoverplane." the Peacekeeper deadpans.

We all exchange terse looks with one another, only for the Peacekeeper to clear her throat and motion her rifle towards the elevator doors. Francine mutters something along the lines of ' _Yes, well . . .'_ as she quickly moves from her seat and plants a kiss on our foreheads. Usually, I would be the first to chew her out for such frantic behavior. But for all her support she's offered us this past week or so, it's a welcomed gesture. I will genuinely miss the young Escort.

"Lumina, Jai," she begins. "You two were a _spectacular_ first pair of tributes an escort can ask for. You'll do _just_ fine, I can see it now!"

"Thank you Francine, I'm charmed." I mumble from her shoulder as she embraces me with a hug.

"Likewise, darling. You're a diamond among coals." she says, moving to hug Jai. "If District 12 doesn't get a better rap now, I don't know _who else_ will do it! Okay, go on now. The nice officers are waiting."

Her hand slips from mine as I begin my walk towards the elevator, Ainsley and I exchange a warm smile and a nod. Our Mentor is a medicated mess, but at least she gained enough confidence to try and aide us in our predicament. That, on top of surviving her Games is enough to warrant mutual respect.

Unfortunately, Jai remains dormant at the dining room table, his face as pale as a phantom as he stands in place, his head teetering back and forth in apparent disbelief.

"I . . . I _can't_ do it."

The Peacekeeper, annoyed to have been kept so long, moves to drag him along- only for Ainsley to zip over to the shocked boy and whisper into his ear. After a couple of seconds of comforting words, Jai nods, Ainsley patting his shoulder as he joins me in the elevator.

"Are you ready for this?" I breathe, lurching as the elevator launches upward.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he clasps his hand in mine- giving it a gentle squeeze. I can't help but return the gesture.

* * *

We're marched up to the roof, joining the other tributes in a double file line as the Peacekeepers usher us into the back hatch of the hoverplane. Our Escorts and Mentors stand off to the side, most looking like attendees to a funeral and the obvious ones waving and cheering on their respective pair as were wordlessly escorted in.

Instead of the usual cargo bay the tributes are placed in as per the recaps, the Peacekeepers motion for us to take a seat on the left and right hand side of an expansive cabin. It looks like something straight out of a _Pan-American Airways_ commercial, the cabin was fitted with wood-paneled walls and crimson seating alongside golden trimmings. I take the window seat, as Jai and I are shackled to the legs of our chairs. This precaution is apparently for _'safety measures'_ assured a Peacekeeper as he secures our binds and moves on to Cian and Marcia's.

 _. . . Because we wouldn't want the tributes breaking free and rushing the cockpit, right?_

After securing our binds, the Peacekeepers disembark and the hovercraft slowly ascends and zooms away. The Capitol, at least downtown- faced south towards the lake . . . So, I'm assuming that our location is _eastward,_ as we would be heading _towards_ the mountains if we went any other direction.

After a couple minutes of flight, the cabin was devoid of noise, besides the arcane small talk among District Partners and those in your immediate area. District 6 is on the opposite end of the isle, looking frightened out of their minds. District 8 both look especially defeated and panicky as well, I don't blame them. Teams of what I assume are Peacekeepers or doctors? Emerge from downstairs with suitcases in their hands. I'm going to assume judging by the red crosses on their suits that they're doctors as well.

I'm confused because their uniforms are unlike anything I've seen before . . . besides the film they always show at the reapings or archive footage of the rebellions. _Oh yes!_ They seem to be a variation of what Father's workers at the factory would wear when dealing with hazards of sorts. The doctors wore Peacekeeper-white hooded suits, black harnesses with a belt and a holster alongside black gloves and long boots as well.

A middle aged woman with graying hair and hard blue eyes knelt down toward Jai and me, unclasping her case as she assembled her equipment. She reveals a 'gun' of sorts, yanking my hand forward as she jabs it into my forearm.

"Your tracker." she says coolly, moving on to the next piece of equipment. She reveals another needle-like instrument, with blue liquid affixed in a vial.

She holds my hand in place as she slowly sinks the needle into one of my veins. " _Relax_ , it makes it easier to dispense that way."

As she injects the mystery substance into me, I can't help but wince as a burning sensation begins to take hold in my arm, then my chest, then the rest of my body.

"What _was_ that miss?" I hiss, shaking my head in a poor attempt to dilute the side-effects. She motions the zipping of her mouth and the tossing away of a key, as she moves on to Jai who as well finds the instruments to be unpleasant.

After the team of doctors leave the cabin, the silence returns- apart from the Careers who have the audacity to giggle among themselves like we're on a damn _field trip_ of some sort. Part of me hopes that once they see the Games for what they are, they'll snap out of it. However, we all know that this is- metaphorically at least, the _beginning_ of their lives.

* * *

After what seemed like _hours_ \- in which the windows were polarized mid-way though - the hoverplane comes to a stop, resting on what I _think_ is a landing pad. Everyone lurches forward as the craft begins to sink lower and lower underground, before coming to a complete stop as the craft shudders in place. The Peacekeepers come back, but this time, they looked like they mean business.

Their hoods are pulled over their heads, their faces replaced with white masks and black circular lenses that make them look like elephants rather than humans. They lugged rifles that glowed violet in the middle alongside black backpacks. All that could be heard were their crackling radios and their deep breaths. They were speaking to one another? Their voices were garbles and unintelligible as they undid our binds.

" _Onyourfeetsinglefilenow_." the lead Peacekeeper garbled.

". . . What was that?" Adele from District 8 asks as she peers from her seat.

The Peacekeepers' shoulders drop in annoyance. They press a few buttons from their communicuff, followed by a soft hiss from their mask.

"Tributes, get on your feet and in single file, and then follow me." snaps the female Peacekeeper. We follow her command, lining up in a boy girl boy girl pattern from Snow Island to Myself and Jai.

Slowly but surely, the Peacekeepers lead us off the hovercraft and further into a complex of sorts- sometimes a hallway lined with series of piping, or laboratories with rectangular windows and sickly green walls. Every five minutes or so, each tribute would be directed elsewhere, each and every one of them until I remained.

* * *

"Ah, there you are girl." chides Cameron as I saunter into the room- the Peacekeeper closing the door behind us. "Come come, let's have you change and get something to eat."

I follow my stylist to the closet, in which he reveals the outfit I will wear when the Games begin. He allows me privacy, only returning when I call for him to come back again. He stands me up in front of a full-length mirror, circling me like a vulture does its meal.

"Hmm," he hums, coming out of his thoughts. "A black shirt on top of a coal-black windbreaker of a more sturdy material- knee length with khaki trousers akin to those of a Peacekeeper utility uniform- _again_ with multiple pockets. Then, we have some calf length boots- very sturdy like the jacket and tight fitting. Ooh _and_ they're steel toed. With the boots being all black, you kinda forget." he finishes with a sad chuckle.

"So," I say, adjusting the jacket. "What do you make of the outfit in general? What will the arena be like?"

He scratches his chin. "Most of this stuff is tight fitting, which means you should expect a lot of moving around. The boots are a testament to that running around; those won't be breaking apart or falling off any time soon. With the trousers, the skin tight feature helps with your agility and the pockets give me a hunch that there'll be plenty of things to scavenge, possibly."

"What about the weather?" I inquire, motioning towards the black jacket with silver accents.

Cameron caresses the sleeve in his hand. "Again, thigh length windbreaker with multiple pockets and decent inner padding . . ." he caresses his chin once more. "It'll be good for housing extra items. In terms of weather, expect gentle breezes and monsoons. Water will slide right off this thing. Your t-shirt is functional, form fitting. If it does get a tad hot, you could wear it alone no problem."

Well good, at least I don't need to worry about freezing to death or eating Jai's dead body . . .

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

He shrugs. "Nope, I'm just as blind as you are, for they shipped us out as soon as the interviews were over. If you've paid attention in your geography class, you'd have an inkling of where we might be located. North America is a big continent m'dear; however, if I were to make an educated guess, we're in the east or even west."

So I _was_ right, as far as being east goes. That District 12 home advantage may play into our pockets. I suppose _any_ advantage is good at the moment.

Cameron and I look up towards the ceiling as a pleasant chime emits from the PA system.

 _"Tributes, you have thirty minutes until launch."_ Chimes a pleasant voice that sounds a lot like that female hologram Vi's.

Cameron gently ushers me over to a table, fitted with various types of light finger foods. ' _Eat up_ ' he urges, as he provides me a plate, ' _You never know what awaits you up top._ ' So I do, selecting the salmon I'm so enthralled with alongside some vegetables to hold me over until I find a food source on the surface. As I assemble these foods and place them in front of me, I can't help but think this'll be my final meal if only for a little while. It also makes me think about Mother and Father, the social gatherings we would have with what few upper echelons District 12 had. Father will have to deal with not having his _'Little Treasure'_ around to nurture anymore.

And then we had Hedy, Cordin and Leonardo . . . I'm sure Cordin and Leonardo could figure something out if the worse does happen. Hedy will be fine, she has tons of potential many in our downtrodden District will never have.

 _"Tributes, you have five minutes until launch."_

 _"_ Are you ready to get going, Lumina?" Cameron asks, watching as I pat my lips with a napkin.

" . . . Ready as I will ever be, Cameron." I answer.

He nods, motioning me to the ' _elephant in the room_ ', the pedestal that'll be hoisting me to the slaughter. _The stockyards_ people back home call it, and they couldn't be anything _but_ right at the moniker. I take one step, two steps before I enter the tube as Cameron gently spins me around- an item cupped in his hands.

"It's a communicuff of sorts." he says, clasping it on my forearm. "Your roster of tributes will be the first to use it in the Games. It acts as a PDA with pieces of the arena map, the time, limited radar, info on mutts, et cetera. Mind you, that people have to pay a pretty penny to sponsor you with those microchips to put into your cuff, so try and keep it in tact, okay?"

I observe the hefty piece of tech, before nodding and turning back towards the pedestal. "Okay, Cameron. Thank you for the information . . . and your superb styling skills. Be sure to send the rest of the prep team my love, okay?"

"Of course darling." he says. "And um . . . Lumina, I just wanted to say it has also been a pleasure styling such a graceful young woman such as you. You'd think all District 12 children were urchins just like the generation before them. But _you,_ you raised the bar for everyone else that follows. Thank you."

"What can I say Cameron," I turn around, facing the young man. "The Reiss family is known to make _lasting impressions_."

With that, the pod encloses around me with a soft hiss as it seals tight. My stylist and I exchange a polite nod as I wait for the playing of the anthem while I begin to be hoisted upward into the unknown. I have a good life back home, family, friends and acquaintances that love and appreciate me. I've been tutored in everything ranging from chemical reactions and ballroom dancing. Surely, my yearning for a more 'hands on' approach to my experiences will translate well into this arena?

It'll have _to be_.

Five minutes turn into ten minutes as no other announcement was made over the PA system, as time ticks on my stomach continues to twist itself into a bundle of nerves. I assume that every other tribute was in a comparable state. Was this some sort of trick or sick joke? I turn to Cameron who shrugs my way. He seems more confused if not _more_ than I am.

Why in Snow's name haven't we launched yet?


	22. Cornucopia Bloodbath

**_Haus Der Toten; The 95th Hunger Games_** ** _  
_** ** _Cornucopia Bloodbath._**

* * *

 _"We had commenced a series of trial runs on captured rebel combatants during the waning hours of the Dark Days. Once one is deprived of necessities, tortured relentlessly for days on end and stripped to the bare minimum, one would do **anything** to escape the situation they're in. _

_When we offered a way out in the form of a precursor to the Hunger Games, lets just say they- being the last batch - were more than willing to participate._

 _That initial rush, that mad dash towards the weapons to slaughter their cousins-in-arms, who knew it would serve to be **oh so** effective."_

-Doctor Vi Glassman, one of the brainchild's behind the "Hunger Games."

* * *

 **Pearlana Singh, aged 27** **  
** **Senior Gamemaker.**

 **Games Control Centre,**  
 **Capitol City**  
 **May 17th, 2158 (95th HG)**

* * *

As Gamemakers, we like _structure._ Without structure _we, break, down_.

The expansive auditorium is filled with the ringing of telephones and sporadic yells as our Head Gamemaker is nowhere to be seen. No one remains seated at their stations- a couple dozen circular cubicles crammed with equipment and holographic tables in spaced out rows of five. The wall-sized display area continues to showcase aerial shots of the empty arena. The command turret in the middle of the room is devoid of a Head Gamemaker to dictate our next move- the red telephone serving as a direct line to the Presidential Mansion also remains silent.

In conclusion . . . I think the word ' _pandemonium_ ' is the most suitable expression to describe our current predicament.

"Where is Mister Hyperion?!" splutters Yvette as she paces to and fro, massages her temples. "Why be late _TODAY_ of all days, I don't get it?!"

"Has anyone called him!?" inquires Melchior.

"His phone is dead or off, we can't reach him." answers Vontavius.

"What about his house phone?"

" _Same thing_!" answers another Gamemaker, telephone in hand as he shrugs in frustration.

"We we're supposed to launch TWENTY MINUTES ago!" bellows Darius as he barrels past me, his eyes bulging out his sockets as he shambles haphazardly through the auditorium.

I slink my way over to the command turret, smoothing down my pregnant stomach as I give the microphone a gentle tap. "Hello? _Everyone_ , please cool it for just _one moment_?" I repeat this, to no avail as everyone mindlessly goes about their business in hysterical fashion. They only _now_ shut their gobs when Vi and Pax appear at the main control table- a circular placement that usually displays the arena or other images. Everyone rushes the table en masse, surrounding the AI's and pounding them with dozens upon dozens of questions. In typical ' _machine_ ' like fashion, the two holograms continue to appear removed from the situation entirely as they remain unresponsive.

"It appears the pyramid is without its pyramidion." says Pax, ignoring us as he glances toward Vi.

She nods, carrying on the cryptic charade they're known for. "For _now_ at least. We have been in contact with the minister overseeing your department. A replacement should be here _shortly_."

"What do you mean, _replacement_?!" shouts Voltaire, baffled. "Where's Thames?!"

A woman lets out a sharp gasp as the auditorium is awash with loud speculations. Melchior and Darius continue to ramble at the holograms who continue to passively remain idle where they stand. Thames was _replaced, but why?_ Thames was doing just fine last night _; all one hundred_ of us arrived together last night _\- excluding Antipatros who should be in District 4._ Was he implicated too? What could Thames have possibly done for him to be removed?

Okay, Thames was 'fired', _fine_. Who will take his place if not _I_ or the other Senior Gamemakers? Former Head Gamemakers Pelagius Mayfair, Ophelia Drake?

 _Who_?

* * *

"Ah, it appears our replacement Head Gamemaker has arrived!" chimes Vi, grabbing the ends of her skirt as she performs a curtsy.

Our heads collectively snap towards the main doors as they slide open, revealing two Peacekeepers and . . .

"Afternoon, everyone!" announces Gideon Montresor as he adjusts his cuff links, smiling brightly with a firm nod while continuing his way down towards us. "Excuse me and my tardiness, for I am _just_ as baffled as you are."

"Mr. Montresor, welcome to the Games Control Room," says Pax with a regal bow.

"Before we begin," adds Vi, "We will need the passphrase to relinquish control over to you as Head Gamemaker. All personnel please remain silent for voice recognition."

Gideon adjusts his spectacles, reaching into his breast pocket as he retrieves a card.

"Ah yes, right . . . _Caliban_." he says aloud.

The holographic children exchange cautious glances before nodding. "Password confirmed. Mr. Montresor, please board the platform and begin your operations."

Astonished, we all back away from the command turret as the older man boards the platform, swiveling in his chair while tapping a few commands into the computer. We slink back even further as the turret rises into position with a soft hiss, overseeing the entire room and its operations. I knew that the man was a senior scientist before the war - mostly dealing with the inner science of the Games among other things- but I wouldn't have pegged him as our _replacement_.

Gideon glances over the edge of the turret, perplexed as to why we haven't budged yet. "You guys can assume your positions now; I applaud you for not burning down the centre in my absence."

"Um . . . Excuse me, Mister Montresor?" I inquire. "What happened to Head Gamemaker Hyperion?"

His face tenses, his lips contorted into a thin line. "Hyperion is dead."

No one dare says a word, besides the stunned glances we send one another.

"Well," I say, turning back to my colleagues. "You heard Mister Montresor, to your positions! We have a Hunger Games to oversee."

With that, the room snaps into action, each of us quickly taking our seats and awaiting Gideon's command. If Thames did something that warranted his execution, then he alone was to blame. Besides, his approach was lenient and tame- which in turn produced less than ideal results.

"Are the mutts prepped and ready for deployment, including traps?"

"Yes Sir." I answer, nodding towards him. "All muttations await deployment at your request."

"Perfect. How is our deflector shield integrity?"

"Force field energy is at _one-hundred percent,_ Mister Montresor." answers Vontavius. "A Peacekeeper battalion is on standby as per usual, sir."

After a few more inquiries, he lets out a sigh- easing into his chair as he nods once.

"Okay. Launch the tributes; let's get this show on the road."

* * *

The national anthem begins to play as the tributes begin their decent to the surface. As the anthem concludes, all twenty-six tributes arise to find themselves smack dab in the middle an expansive field. It's in the late afternoon where they're situated, with heavy overcast. The rain should fall any moment now.

A forest surrounds the east, south and west end of the silver horn. This isn't just _any_ wooded area akin to that of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, _no, no_ \- this arena has a lot more to it, a _hidden history_ one would say.

In this field of ours, are remnants of said history. Bombed out armored cars, artillery emplacements, _bones,_ and weaponry are just some of the things one could find if they looked. The most significant piece of debris so happens to be the bombed out makeshift hangar housing the shells of hoverplanes- and the bombed out hovercraft overturned just south of the cornucopia which overflows with untapped cargo. The centerpiece of this arena is located north of the cornucopia. Just a couple meters away on a hill happens to be a mansion- five stories with multiple wings and decrepit due to age and the recent events that took place here not too long ago.

"Melchior," Gideon calls, gesturing towards the young man. "Proceed with the countdown sequence."

Melchior seems slightly surprised, but quickly nods as he pivots back to his station and leans into the microphone.

"Let the Nintey-Fifth Annual Hunger Games _begin_ ," he announces, his voice warped by the software. "May the odds be ever in your fa _vor_."

 _"Sixty . . . fifty-fine . . . fifty-eight . . ."_

Orville appears relieved out his mind to see Marcia standing thirty feet away from him, both of them located on the west edge of the semi-circle. He nods to his ally, which prompts Marcia to crack a weak smile and a timid wave.

The 9 female and the 8 female seem to be in the same predicament, exchanging polite nods as they scan the semi circle for Joelle who happens to be two whole tributes away. Once they get her attention, the 9 female gestures to the cornucopia. The District 10 female gives a slight nod toward her allies, albeit shaky. The 8 female motions to the side of the cornucopia, possibly designating a meeting point of sorts.

 _"Fifty-Three . . . fifty-two . . . fifty-one . . ."_

Mentan is stood up between Kite and Nicolao. Judging by the way his knees clack together, he's less than charmed to be between the two tributes. Once Kite and Nicolao set eyes on one another, Kite gestures to the rack of swords at the mouth of the horn. This prompts a smile from the Snow Island male.

" _Forty-five . . . forty-two . . . forty . . ._ "

Beside Orville was Rafaela who with her eyes closed, made a cross gesture on her body as she muttered to herself. She sets her eyes on what appears to be a quarterstaff leaned against a pack of crates.

The District 6 female seems to keep her eyes trained on the mansion; on occasion she would cast a glance at the various weapons, nodding herself in assurance.

Valentina, alongside her partner Occo a couple tributes away, continue to eye the coil of wire hung up against the east wall of the horn. Keeping in character, both tributes seem scared out of their minds. Valentina continues to caress the ring on her finger, while Occo mutters to himself, adjusting his glasses all the while.

 _"Thirty-seven . . . thirty-three . . . twenty-nine . . ."_

Landry Danton appears to be looking at a crate with various short swords, knives and axes leaned up against it, then she casts her eyes to the mansion. She glances at Rafaela who nods towards the silver horn- they seem to be on the same page. She offers one last nod to the 7 male that seems dead set on the bows stacked against the same crate as Landry's knives.

Lumina stands three tributes away from Jai. Jai scans the cornucopia and the tributes around him, meeting her gaze as the duo nod in apparent agreement.

Meryln, who happens to be situated right beside Landry, takes in the sights around him without any particular care.

 _"Twenty-eight . . . twenty-seven . . . twenty-six . . ."_

With a feral glint in her eye, Aliyah seems to be sizing up each and every one of her competition. She twists the kinks out of her neck and bounces on her pedestal. She glances at the District 1 male right beside her, winking as the District 1 male lets out a guffaw while he cracks his knuckles.

The District 4 female appears calm, keeping her gaze ahead while honing herself for the incoming storm. Luana, being the most composed out of her cohorts, scans the cornucopia for potential pickings as she stretches her quads in anticipation.

 _"Twenty-five . . . twenty-four . . . twenty-three . . ."_

The males hailing from District 3, 10 and 11 are already together, the crafty trio facing the mouth of the cornucopia. The District 3 male, seeming confused about an exit strategy, points to the mouth of the horn and then the mansion with a shrug. The 10 male nods, pointing towards the cornucopia and then the mansion as the boys nod in unison.

Marcia in apparent confusion pivots her body to the west end of the field, then to the south end of the field. Orville raises his arms in confusion as she settles back towards the cornucopia. She shakes her head, pointing towards the horn as she braces herself. If she's decent with her navigation skills, she could get away with a trinket or two. She's smaller and quicker than her competition, after all.

Orville on the other hand seems more conflicted than ever - after spending the past twenty seconds motioning for his ally to flee to the south end of the field. His body still points south, his eyes watching Marcia as his lips scrounge into a deep frown. ' _Should I leave her . . . or follow her'_ seems to be his psyche judging by his facial features.

 _Nineteen . . . eighteen . . . seventeen . . . sixteen . . . fifteen . . ._

* * *

 ** _Vincent Barlow, 18, District 1_**

* * *

 _"Mom, Pop!" announces Jamie as he makes his way into the living room, a cocky smile on his mug. "Guess who made Vice President of Human Resources at Capitol Minerals?!"_

 _And as per usual, Mom and Dad' face light up with glee._

 _"You got a PROMOTION!?" squeals Mom, shooting out of her seat as she clings to my older brother while she cheers all the while. His face is pocked with red lipstick as she jostles him around with glee._

 _"Atta' boy, Jamie! Vice-President of Human Resources at Capitol Minerals, I'm proud of you son!" smiles Dad, pipe in his mouth as he reclines in his sofa._

 _"And the boy is so young!" chirps Mom. "Carrie won't have to lift a finger for the rest of her life! Good on you Jamie."_

 _From the table, I take a break from my spaghetti, clearing my throat as their eyes dart my way._

 _"Principal Von Delight and Vice-Principal Embraer say my swordsmanship and strength are like no other student within my age group." I say with hesitancy in my voice._

 _"I think that might be code for being selected male tribute this coming year."_

 _Mom and Dad smile at this, but you don't have to be a private dick to read their faces know that their feeling of joy was lesser than it was for Jamie's promotion. At least Jamie seemed supportive, offering a silent smile._

* * *

 _Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . six_

Well, here we are. Eighteen years of preparation, blood, sweat and tears have lead to this _very moment_.

And here I thought the _opening ceremony_ was the kicker. The chariots were just the tip of the iceberg; _here is where_ history will be made for the ninety-fifth time.

And _I'm_ at the tip of the spear. This is where we either become _killers or victims_.

From what I can see, my fellow tributes are in various emotional states at the moment. Some of them appear sweaty, teetering on their pedestals as the countdown reaches the single digits. I look over to Aliyah, who seems just as eager as I am, bouncing on her heels as our finest hour is about to begin.

"So!" I yell over to her, smiling as her head cranes my way. "I take it that our strategy discussed last night still stands!?"

An impish grin spreads from one side of her mouth to the other, as she allows for a single nod.

"Well of course!" she calls, her voice seeping in eagerness and joy as I nod, bracing myself as the other tributes take on various positions.

There seems to be a couple of lower-tier goodies leading up to the bigger bounties closer to the horn . . . I'll ignore those. Zenira and the instructors always said to go straight for the big prize. Interesting, there seems to be three pyramids of crates, short-swords and various other blades are laid up against the boxes. I think I'll start with the one on the _right._

My fellow Careers Luana, Skylar, Kite and Merlyn seem to be on the same page in that regard- as they all gesture to the pyramid on the west end while Nic motions to the east pyramid. _Good. Now focus._

I very well hope you're watching Mom and Dad, because your son is about to make history- history in a way that Jamie will _never_ achieve, to bring pride and glory to our family and District in a way he'll _never_ do.

 _Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one._

As the gong sounds and the countdown dissipates, I leap from my pedestal and charge.

* * *

 ** _James "Jem" Pullo, 15, District 8_**

* * *

As the gong rings out, so does the first bout of thunder from the overcast above as rain begins to pour down on top of us.

My heart lurching and my brain throbbing, I pounce from my pedestal, pumping my legs as fast as I can- my eyes focusing straight ahead towards the stack of crates at the mouth of the horn. As I look to my left and right, _every tribute_ barrels their way toward the cornucopia in unison. A duo that I can't make out through the light fog and rain seem to have the edge as they reach the mouth first. No one flees into the foliage or towards the giant mansion nearby. That thirty feet space Malachi warned us about begins closing in quickly, as we inch closer and closer towards our coveted item.

Stumbling through a puddle of mud, I reach the crate I've been eyeing since my pedestal clicked into place- selecting a knife about the size of my forearm.

 _Okay, what next James? Why not a backpack!? Yes, a backpack, then I'll look out for Evara and Mentan._

Sheathing the knife in my boot, I storm over to the nearest backpack. Just as I make my way towards the knapsack, a figure clad in a green jacket leaps from behind a stack of crates, tomahawk in hand.

The hatchet whistles sharply through the space I once stood as I hug the ground below me.

The figure, I can now identify as Vincent from District 1, curses under his breath as he charges toward me, swatting the District 10 male out of his way as he brandishes a baton.

"Hey District Eight," he sneers, swiping the metal bat towards my head. "Let's finish what we started in training, yeah!?"

I duck, unsheathing my knife as he prepares to swing again. I sidestep his blow, jabbing my blade into his forearm as he yelps in pain. In return, I earn a backhand for my efforts. My vision flashes white and I taste blood on my lips as another fist connects with my cheek. _Come on James; get your head in the game!_

As my vision comes back I find Vincent rushing towards me again, a guttural roar emitting from him. Before I could prepare, we both find ourselves crashing into the stack of crates behind me. The wind knocked out of my lungs and the mud caking my face and outfit, I roll into a low crouch as he casually strolls into the mouth of the cornucopia- _unarmed._

As I rush Vincent and engage him, I truly understand why they call them ' _Careers_ '. While I jab and slash at the older boy, my resolve to defeat him grows dimmer by the second, as his only response was to bob and weave, offering a punch or kick when he felt like it. He was _playing_ with me, and he knows it- laughing all the while as he sends another backhand my way. I go for a false swipe, aiming for his stomach while I jab the knife upwards towards his heart.

I feel my heart plunge as he catches my arm mid stab. He raises my arm, _up, up, up_ by the elbow and jerks it downward like a lever. I scream as I hear the audible twig-like _snap_ my elbow makes as I crumple to the floor- withering in pain.

"You outliers and your bravado . . . it _pisses_ me off." Vincent scoffs, as he yanks me by the leg.

Mentan, Evara, where are they? As I attempt to get a grasp of my surroundings, I see that they too are engaged with Vincent's pals. Hopeless, I feel myself being slowly raised off the ground. My body begins to spin around and around, closer and closer towards the hulking steel cornucopia until the first hit.

As my head collides with the wall, my head sears with pain as my vision goes blank.

The second collision has me seeing stars; I could feel my brain rattling around my head as he prepares for another spin . . . the third has me seeing blood gushing down my face.

Oh Panem, I just want it to be _over_ already!

I feel his hand loosen from my ankle and before I know it, I'm sent careening into a stack of crates. My body screams for a release from all this pain as I try to move my hands, my feet, but to no avail. My vision is spotty, the blood mixing in with the mud that still coats my face.

I _swear_ , further into the mouth of the cornucopia, I see two eyes leering at me from the darkness- a boy and a girl- _Marcia_ and _Orville from what I can see._

Slowly, I reach my hand out, in hopes that they would save me from Vincent's clutches. For some reason, they just _sit_ there, slinking back in fear as a shadow looms over me. A rough kick to my side is enough to flip me on my back. I'm face to face with Vincent himself, wielding a sword that glistens in the shade.

"Well," he shrugs, baring his whites as he raises the sword over my chest. "Thanks for playing."

I'm thankful for my head being bashed against the wall. Only then would I not feel his sword skewer my heart.

* * *

 ** _Aliyah Marini, District 2_**

* * *

I can feel the nervous energy coursing through my gut as I leap off my pedestal. My finest hour, my _true rite_ of passage begins now.

Back in _CAMS_ , the drill instructors would always make it known that _every_ item within the horn's radius is useful- everything from the shiny broadsword to a puny dagger. Which is why, as I join the horde of tributes in the mad dash toward the cornucopia, I scoop up a trio of daggers just a mere ten steps from my pedestal and continue my sprint towards the bounty of items.

"Vincent!" I call, motioning to the golden yellow jacket that darts past us. "District 8 is at the second crate pyramid!"

He nods, clambering on top of the makeshift pillar as the boy is preoccupied with the knives at the base.

"Meryln, District 9 male is at the pile of backpacks!"

He nods, selecting a harpoon as he darts toward the boy. "I got it!"

Skylar, Kite and Luana sift through various piles of items- Kite securing a backpack before darting off towards the District 9 female. Nic arrives at the eastern pyramid of goodies, the pipsqueak will be fine.

By the time Vincent has engaged James, _everyone_ had arrived at the cornucopia- engaging in amateurish combat over items in which there are many. Unlike _us_ however, they _don't_ have the luxury of waiting until everything dies down. I hear the pounding of boots against the wet ground below us. I look up to see Tybalt stumbling my way - serrated sword in hand. His stumble turns into a firm sprint, a yell erupting from his throat as he prepares to ram me through with his weapon.

 _How pathetic_. I go low, grabbing him by the legs and flipping him over my shoulder as I slam him to the floor with a wet smack. Dazed, I pin his sword arm under my knee- taking a dagger and plunging it into his shoulder- twisting it as he lets out a pained cry. I rip it out, going for another stab. It connects, his blood splashes across my cheek. It's hot in contrast to the cold rain that peppers my face. As I prepare another knife to sink through his skull, I notice that Luana- oblivious as she fills her messenger bag with items - is wide open to the sword that Evara from District 3 is about to plunge into her back.

" _UGH!_ Luana behind you!" with one stomp to Tybalt's groin I rush toward, knives flying towards the Three girl. One connects with her side, prompting the girl to yell- causing Luana to roll out of the way as the sword connects with the crate she was looting- chaffing the black paint.

She turns my way, hacking and slashing towards me as I bob and weave her clumsy blows. She swings high, and I _swear_ she took a couple of my hairs with that swing. That swing leaves her wounded side exposed- where my knife still remains stuck inside her. I reach for it, yanking it out as her blood now coats my already rust red jacket. I must've hit a nerve or something, as her scream is maddening.

However, it isn't enough to put her off her feet for good, as one of her thrusts nearly rams me through as I quickly sidestep her attack. She swings the sword backward where my head would be, but alas, I duck- closing the space as I shove my knife into her gut.

She lets out a pained gasp, flailing like chicken being held by the neck for slaughter. _Unfortunately_ , the Capitols need a show and this rain will make it harder to catch more fodder. So, I gotta make use of what I have _now_.

I drag the knife upward, her blood coating my hand as if I dunked it in paint. The air already begins to smell like pennies.

 _One, two, three, four, five, six,_ _seven_ times does my knife enter her midsection, squelching all the while as she howls in torment. Her blood coats my jacket, that copper smell becoming a little bit _too_ overbearing. I let District 3 go, kicking her limp body into a pile of crates.

That was a _good_ kill, sure to have gotten the eyes of some of my many followers. However, I'm not _quite_ satisfied. I _will_ be if I catch the next tribute I'm _currently_ laying eyes on.

* * *

 ** _Skylar Barassi, 17, District 4_**

* * *

So this is how it _feels_ , hm? Participating in a cornucopia bloodbath . . .

My legs pumping, stomach contorted into a mass of nerves and anxiety, I pelt as fast as I can- keeping a close eye on the other tributes that slowly close in around me as we zip to the items we desire. A mixture of red and brown lead the charge, zipping into the mouth of the cornucopia. I pay them no mind, instead focusing on the trident that appears to be impaled into the ground- and the words Marissa had imposed upon me before the Peacekeepers claimed us for the flight.

" _I **sure** hope you know about the type of boots you're trying to fill. Sure, running away from neglect is heartfelt . . . but sob stories don't mean jack once those plates click into place."_

I think to myself, _am I_ aware of the _'boots that I'm trying to fill'_? Even now, as I finally arrive at the bounty of goods that overflow from the horn, I hope that what I experience under this forcefield will be _enough_ to make me so.

I yank my trusty trident from the ground, avoiding the miniature fights that begin to erupt as everyone has arrived within the cornucopia's radius. I scan around as far as the rain allows it, and spot a blue backpack. As I lay claim to the decently sized knapsack, a pale arm claims the opposite strap.

I quickly glance upward, finding myself eye-to-eye with the weird girl from District 6. Her blue eyes tremble in fear, my body is jerked violently towards her as she tugs the bag forward. I reciprocate by launching my fist into her cheek. She doubles back, squealing in pain. She then darts away like a deer caught in lights as I flash my trident towards the girl.

The rain is coming down mighty hard in thick droplets. That, and the grey sky with heavy overcast creates limited visibility which means less kills as tributes sloppily sort their way through crates and spar with one another. After filling my pack to the brim with supplies, I rush to intercept the boy from District 9. Mentan Upton. He gasps as I grab him by the pack and launch him into a crate as he cries out with a pained huff.

"Just let me go!" he snaps as he juts out a dagger my way. His hand trembles all the while as I withdraw my trident and proceed to confront the boy. Tears stream down Mentan's face as I give my head hesitant shake in reply. He continues to slink backward, tripping in the mud before scrambling back upward again. " _Please?_ "

"I'm _sorry_ ," I say frowning slightly, trident raised as I prepare to do him in. "I promise I'll make it qui-"

A whistle pierces the air as I duck- blood spraying my face as a harpoon impales itself into the chest of Mentan. I could offer was a sharp squeal while he glances at me in disbelief, groaning in pain as blood continues oozes from his mouth. Merlyn stomps forward, ripping his weapon from out of the kid's chest and proceeds to impale the boy one, two, _three_ times as three cannons ring out in rapid succession.

"This isn't the time for second thoughts, Barassi." he says, grunting as he rips the harpoon out of Mentan's slack body. All I could do is gawk as flecks of blood coat the District 2 males' face, with him not showing much care in the world. "Get your head in the game."

All I can do is nod, as I continue to rifle through the supplies while keeping an eye on the events that continue in front of me.

The female from District 12 leaps off a pyramid of supplies and rolls into the mouth of the cornucopia as Vincent- coated with blood, saunters out from where she rolled in and joins Nicolao and Kite at the east pyramid of supplies. Behind him he leaves a bloodied mass that used to be a tribute. Who? I'm not certain. Nic and Kite are doing a rather decent job at preventing the others from picking at the pyramids of crates. Aliyah stabs the girl from District 3 repeatedly in the midsection, her innards threatening to spill out completely.

Is this what I _really_ volunteered for? _No, we can't think like that right now._ I got what I need, its best that I _prove_ myself.

I move to join Merlyn who rushes to the east pyramid of supplies, only for Aliyah to come barreling my way.

"Skylar!" she yells, bloody knives drawn. "Keep her there!"

Keep _who_ there? I turn around, only for a boot to come flying in my view. It connects, prompting me to see stars as I feel my body careen into a crate. My vision restores to see _Rafaela,_ armed with a Bo staff- letting out a war cry as she prepares to slam it into my skull. I raise my trident upward, smirking as her wooden staff shatters against its steel.

"¡ _Mierda_!" she snarls, blood frothing out her mouth as I prod her stomach with the flat end of my trident- then using it to sweep her legs from under her.

"Nice blow Barassi," sneers Aliyah, knives twirling in her hands. "Let's take it _real_ slow with her . . . make her regret joining the _riffraff_."

"Y-yeah, okay." I mumble, avoiding Rafaela's heated glare while constantly checking around for threats. As Aliyah stomps over, I hear a soft whistle through the rain. Her smug smile is replaced with a grimace and a cry of pain as an arrow pierces her forearm. Just a couple feet away, Tamir Acker reloads another bolt alongside Landry who continues to assemble items into her pack.

As expected, I turn back to my charge to find her smirking at me- her knife plunged into my thigh. I let out a shout, only for it to be cut short as she uses the knuckle duster attached to the blade to deck me in the cheek.

"Better luck _next_ time, _pendejo_!" Rafaela hisses, giving me a stomp to the stomach and a knee to the head for Aliyah as she scrambles off- my backpack in tote.

Ripping the bolt out of her forearm with an angered roar, she tugs me up on my feet.

"COME ON BARASSI, we're not finished with them yet!"

* * *

 ** _Adele Havillard, 16, District 8_**

* * *

As the gong rings throughout the arena, my first thought is to get to Rianne, _fast._

I suppose that what they say is true- that great minds _do_ think _alike_. I leap off my plate as Rianne follows my notion, we quickly close in on that thirty pace distance our pedestals had between us.

"Come on, come on, let's go!" urges Rianne as she clasps her hands in mine. Hand in hand, we join the rest of the herd of tributes as the rain intensifies and a light fog begins to move in from the south- it's not quite upon us yet, however I wouldn't want to be around when it does. My body jostles up and down as I try my darnedest to scan the crowd for Joelle. For _Panem's sake_ , I hope she's _okay_.

"Any sign of Joelle, _any_ at all?" pants Rianne, shaking the rain off her face.

With my free hand, I wipe some droplets out of my vision. "No, I can't see her! The rain isn't making it all that easy either."

She lets out a nervous groan in reply, our feet pounding the wet floor as we slide to a stop at a mound of supplies. Rianne selects her trusty sickle from inside one of the crates, holding it between us as she gently lobs it in the air.

"Okay!" she huffs, gripping me by the shoulder. "We need _supplies_. Get a pack, find Joelle while finding stuff along the way- _meet me_ , then straight to the mansion, got it!?"

I nod, my eyes darting elsewhere as the hurried breaths of a tribute becomes more and more audible. "Rianne, _DUCK_!"

Kite growls in anger as his broadsword collides with a crate, causing sparks to fly as steel grinds against steel. He swings again and this time his sword collides with Rianne's sickle as the two struggle for the upper hand. Out of the goodness of his heart or for just some random undetermined reason, Jai from District 12 charges over with a short sword- yelling as he moves to swipe for the District 4 males rib. Kite narrowly blocks the surprise attack.

"Well, _now_ it's a party!" Kite jeers, baring his teeth Rianne and Jai continue the offensive.

"Adele, _go_!" Rianne seethes, ducking a swing from Kite. "HURRY, before it's too late!"

 _Yes right, go find supplies!_ Nearly tripping in the muck, I dart around the mound of supplies only to see two more mounds of crates neatly piled in the same pyramid as the one behind me. Evara from Three is about to strike Luana down with her sword, only for a knife thrown by Aliyah to pierce her side as Luana narrowly rolls out the way.

"Watch it, Eight!" yells Cveta from Six, hands clutched to her bruised cheek as she hurriedly shoves me aside, causing us both to tumble to the floor. We both let out a startled scream as the boy from District 1 tackles . . . _James,_ into the centre pile- causing each crate and its contents to spill loudly across the field. Frenzied, Cveta zips to a backpack and shoves item after item into her pack- darting off once again as Valentina from Five jostles her shoulder.

Heart thumping, I move to do the same, selecting a duffel bag and picking at every item I can find. Packets of food, tarp, a roll of knives, all of them will have use soon enough. As I zip up, Herrick from District 3 is upon me, his hands reaching for my pack. He tugs, I tug _back_. He raises a fist and punches me in the cheek one, two, three times. Among the strewn out supplies from James and Vincent's fight I select a dagger, plunging it into the side of his neck and out again.

He cries in pain, flying backwards as I tumble in the opposite direction- crashing onto the ground with a wet flop. My head swims and my cheek burns. All I want right now is to go _home._ Two cannons sound. One for Evara who remains slumped against a crate . . . maybe the second for James, depending on how the fight went.

With a bated breath, I heave myself onto a crate in front of me - finding myself watching Joelle trying to escape the clutches of Cian from Eleven. Joelle, heaving a backpack filled with items attempts to flee from the older, machete wielding boy. He yanks her by the knapsack handle, machete hesitantly raised as Joelle attempts to crawl away from the boy.

No not like _this._ She needs to _live,_ if only for a little while longer.

Knife drawn, I begin my sprint over to Joelle. Another cannon fires although I'm not sure who it was for.

"RIANNE, she's over here!" I yell as she turns my way, her face filled with shock as Jai tosses Kite into a pile of crates. She joins me in our dash towards Joelle, but we're too late.

Cian, noticing our approach- plunges his machete into Joelle's chest as she lets out a short, anguished cry. Not a split second passes as my knife leaves my hand, lodging itself into his shoulder. He lets out a pained growl, swiping his machete high as I go low. He lines up his machete to defend against Rianne's strike- however she wasn't planning to swing upward.

Cian shrieks in agony as his legs are cut clean from his knees. His blood spurts from the stumps where his legs used to be, as his body writhes violently against the ground. Two chops to the head from Rianne's sickle are enough to put him down, cutting his gruesome shrieks short.

She gently grabs Joelle's pack and slings it over her shoulder, her face still covered with the blood of Cian. "Come on!" she pats my shoulder, "We gotta get moving!"

* * *

 _On the wall display, monitors showcasing the various public venues across the Capitol can be seen as spectators roar with fervor while the tributes begin their mad dash towards the cornucopia on the main monitor._

 _Gideon nodded to himself, adjusting his glasses as he leaned over his control tower toward the Muttation Specialist._

 _"Send in the biohazards." he said with a nod._

 _The muttation specialist, Melchior glanced at fellow Gamemaker Pearlana Singh. All she could do is offer a slight shrug. He was the Acting Head Gamemaker after all._

 _"Why release them so early, sir? Hehe, w-we've only just begu-"_

 _"Melchior," Gideon affirmed. His voice was neutral yet pressing. "Release the biohazards."_

 _"Yes Mr. Montresor, releasing the biohazards now."_

* * *

 ** _Jai Matisse, 17, District 12_**

* * *

 _Remember Jai, focus on the PRESENT, not was supposedly done in the past . . . or past life I should say._

The skies become alight with thunder as the gong sounds off, signifying the beginning of yet another Hunger Games. I don't need to be told twice to get moving as I leap off my plate, stumbling into a full out sprint towards the cornucopia. Is it just _me_ , or is that fog rolling it fairly quickly from the south?

 _Forget that. Remember what Ainsely said- weapons . . . supplies, get out!_

It's raining now, that wide gap between each tribute slowly closing in as each of us reach the cornucopia's radius. The two youngest tributes book it faster than anyone else, all the way into the mouth of the cornucopia. Good for them, they've got jets for sure. I just wonder how they'll make it out, I'm sure they'll find a way.

Just as I'm about to approach the eastern pillar of crates, I pick up a short sword from from the outskirts. If I could find a short sword instead of a puny dagger right off the bat, I must have _some_ form of luck, right?

 _Okay, okay. We're here, FOCUS Jai!_

With a stumbling finish, I reach the pillar, alongside the District 8 and 9 girls, clad in golden yellow and bottle green jackets respectively. I exchange a nod with the Niner girl who returns it breathlessly while turning back to her partner. _Good, we have a mutual understanding. Live another day, fight another fight._ I assemble a orange backpack, shoving it with cans of food, copious amounts of gauze among other trinkets.

 _Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up! Where's Lumina? Oh, there she is- jumping into the mouth of the horn._

I move to join her, only to be blocked as Kite from District 4 clashes with the Niner female. She made a truce with me, so it's only fair I help her out. Mom _always_ said I had a heart as big as District 11. So I charge, swinging my sword toward his side. As expected, his Career training allows for him to block my strike while quickly moving to deflect Niner's blow to his neck.

"Now it's a party!" he snarls, spinning back to me as he slashes toward my chest. I barley manage to parry the blow, prompting me to stumble backward.

"Adele, _go!"_ yells Niner as she ducks a swing from Kite. " _HURRY_ , before it's too late!" and she does, rounding the corner towards the other pillars. A loud, resounding crash and screams could be heard. There's not much I can do but hope that Lumina is okay.

Niner engages again with a downward chop towards Kite's head, to which he blocks with a strained grunt. While he's distracted, I swipe his back- slicing his backpack and emptying its contents. Kite doesn't take kindly to this set back, roaring as he slams downward with his broadsword. As one could imagine, a broadsword slamming down with a _puny sword sword_ yields disastrous results- shattering my sword and almost splitting my head in two if I didn't roll out the way!

"RIANNE," yells her ally from the centre pillar. "Over here!"

Rianne, proving to be a _boss_ temporary ally, gives the distracted Career a _CHARLEY HORSE_ of all things, kicking him behind the knee as he stumbles forward. I join in, winding my fist back and clocking him in the cheek.

I can't help but smirk as tumbles into the pile of crates, causing the pillar to implode on top of itself and his sword to clatter in the mud. I earn a quick slug to the shoulder from Rianne who darts around the corner, reaffirming my notion that at least there are _some_ people who don't lose their humanity once the gong goes off. Three cannons fire as Rianne disappears.

Unfortunately, my short break quickly ends as the male from Snow Island leaps over the dismantled pillar in his turquoise jacket, his rapier drawn. As I look around me the fog has already descended on us, it appears to be getting thicker by the moment.

I claim Kite's broadsword from off the wet ground as Nicolao leaps again, rolling onto the ground in front of me as he thrusts his sword my way. I sidestep, swinging the sword upward. We both bleat out a nervous squeal as both our swords go flying aside. _Damn rain._

Before I could react, he tackles me to the floor with an angered yell, his hands clasped around my neck as he begins to squeeze.

"C'mon man . . . L-let me go!" I splutter, my hands now clasped around his throat as I squeeze back with the same intensity. Two more cannons fire as I _swear_ one of them could've been mine, but being choked to death doesn't happen _that fast._

He headbutts me, reaffirming his grip as the strain on my throat is becoming too much to bear. "You . . . _idiota, just die . . . already,_ te voy a matar!"

Solidifying my grip from Nicolao's neck to his shoulders, I place my boot against his stomach.

"Get . . . off of me I said!" with a firm pump of my foot, he goes flying into a crate. Townie comes to my aid, crossbow in hand as she tugs on my collar.

"We need to make haste Jai, _FAST!"_ Lumina urges, chiding me along with three quick slugs to my shoulder.

"Yeah, right . . ." I gasp, clutching her forearm. As I move to get up, a series of loud moans render me frozen.

* * *

 ** _Rafaela Novia, 16, Snow Island_**

* * *

The most _grotesque, unnerving and demonic_ moans and snarls I've _ever_ heard ring out throughout the arena.

Aliyah, frozen in place, glances southward. Orville still dangles off the floor, Aliyah's hands still clutching him by the neck as he continues to struggle to no avail. Marcia piggybacks the bigger girl, hands encircled around Aliyah's neck, but she too looks into the mist. Rianne and Adele remain clasped in each other's hands, frozen. Tybalt remains knelt down toward Herrick who peers upward in confusion. Luana peers down the mist, shielding her eyes in an attempt to get a better look.

" _Coriolanus C. Snow_ . . . what in _Panem's name_ are those things!?" Landry says aloud, her voice amplified even more since the screams and struggling have ceased.

"I dunno . . ." mutters Tamir, "But I don't like it."

It was as if someone had a remote to the world and clicked the ' _pause_ ' button. Everyone was frozen in pure shock at the noises and shambling silhouettes that continue to their slow march towards us. The air begins to smell rotten, nothing that I could directly relate it to. It just _stinks._

" _AAAH_ , DIOS _MIO_!"

All our eyes dart towards Nic, who stumbles backward as a figure lumbers towards him.

The figure, clad in gray military fatigues, looks like something out of an satanic _occult_ film. It had a hunched stance as it approached clumsily. His eyes were disease-stricken, yellowed with a slight glowing feature to them. The lack of eyelids gave its eyeballs a popping look as they swiveled in their sockets. The sleeves of its uniform were rolled up, showcasing the mottled, grayed skin tinged black with rot.

"Back off!" presses Nic, feeling the ground for something as the corpse continues its stumble towards him. "I-I'm warning you!"

Nicolao grabs his rapier from off the ground, grunting as he chops the head clean off its body, blackened blood spurting from its neck as it crumples to the ground.

Through the rain and fog, more shambling corpses skulked through- their hands outreached towards us as they growled and moaned our way. At first, it just seemed like ones and twos, stumbling between the husks of armored trucks and wrecked equipment . . . if you were to look beyond that, you could see the corpses in the _multitudes!_ All of them seem to be wearing variations of the same uniform or everyday clothing like button ups or plaids. One thing they all seem to have in common was their armbands. Some were red some were black. I try to get a close look at the emblems they bear, but no luck.

Marcia and Orville are already gone, and I plan on following their notion.

"Come on," I say, jostling Landry's shoulder as I sheathe my knife. "Let's make our leave!"

Landry nods, securing her backpack. "You don't have to tell me twice!"

"Where are we going?!" yells Tamir as he leaps over a fallen crate.

"Run to the mansion! Run towards the mansion!" I reply.

With that, we book it towards the mansion, as everyone else prepares to flee as well. From the corner of my eye I can see Rianne and her partner escaping into the woods. I wouldn't want to be anywhere near to the woods with those _things_ stalking about. The others seem to be splitting apart, with each alliance legging it towards different parts of the giant house before us. Marica and Orville find safety by climbing the vines; the others take to the grand steps or other crevices to escape the _demonios_ that chase after us.

I stumble to the floor as a spear whistles through the air and implants itself into the ground in front of me. Among the moans of the _demonios_ , the cat calls the rest of the Career pack make can be heard as clear as day. Thankfully, Tamir drags me off the ground before they could close in.

"Where to?!" asks Landry, her voice frantic. She slashes a corpse with her dagger, shoving it out of the way as it lets out a dying howl.

Narrowly missing a knife that nicks my ear, I point towards the foliage on the west side of the expansive mansion. " _There_ , we'll climb up the vines! They seem sturdy enough!"

We round the corner of the estate, coming into full view of a greenhouse. Beyond that greenhouse lies a vineyard of sorts, with a paved area separating two man-made ponds. The Careers are still some distance away, but were closing in fast. We should be _long_ gone by the time they get here.

Landry arrives first, zipping her way up the vines like she probably would a tree in District 7. Being a Isla Nieve native, climbing isn't too much of a chore- as I quickly follow her stead with Tamir lagging behind. _Oh chico . . . aquí vamos._

 _"_ Haul ass, Tamir!" I seethe, growling as Aliyah and her pack round the corner, her knife jutted towards us as they look upward.

"I-I'm coming, I'm coming!" he whines, making his way towards my outstretched hand. "The rain is making it hard to climb properly!"

 _"COME ON YOU GUYS!"_ snaps Landry, already halfway inside the third floor window. She extends a hand towards me which I quickly grab hold of. She tugs once, two times before slacking- prompting me to yelp as the sensation of falling envelopes my body. Even Tamir lets out a hesitant squeal as he slips off the vine entirely, his hand enveloped in mine serving as his only lifeline.

Landry groans once more, attempting to pull us in to no avail. "Oh my _god_ , you guys are _too_ heavy to pull over!"

"Keep trying!" I hiss, my eyes glancing towards Tamir's helpless ones, then to his hand that remains clasped in mines.

Personally, the only reason I joined this alliance was for security purposes- extra bodies to act as a safety curtain when Aliyah and her useful idiots come stomping over. Landry was cool; at least she held her tongue. Tamir on the other hand . . . _Snow_ , he's probably the reason we're in this _predicamento_ in the FIRST place!

I'm not gonna lose sleep if I have to trim fat to live another day. However, what appears to be happening next may be our deciding factor.

"Get em' Luana, get em'!" chides Aliyah, hopping up and down with glee.

"Of course she'll get em', she was the best in our class!" adds Vincent with a smirk.

Luana, her eyes not leaving us, unsheathes a spear from her back as she readies herself. She gives the spear a playful twirl, a grin appearing on her lips as she tilts her head and winks. Like I said, the fat _needs_ to be trimmed, and _I_ need to live another day.

My grip intensifies on Tamir's hand.

"Rafaela!?" he splutters, hesitant and confused. "What are you trying to d-?"

With all the strength in my left arm, I launch him upward- watching as the spear pierces the side of his head with a spray of red and pink. The rain doesn't help as his gore spumes across my face. Landry shrieks, watching along with myself as his eyes immediately lose the life they just held. His pupils are gone, rolled back into his head I suppose.

With his grip slackened, I let go.

His body _falls falls falls_ , slamming against a balcony and painting it crimson with blood before crashing through the windows of the greenhouse below with a splash of sparks and shattered glass.

It was as if time slowed for that _one moment._ To the common spectator- _Snow_ , _even Landry_ \- he was killed in an attempt to get all three of us inside. Only a true Javert would know what transpired.

Landry musters the strength to pull me through- both of us crashing onto the checkered floor with a wet _smack._ Our chests heave and down as we struggle to regain our breaths. Outside, the astonished cheers and cussing of the Careers could be heard. I assume the spectators in the Capitol and the betting dens back home are just as ecstatic as they are. The moans of the _demonios_ soon overtake their cheers as shouts of ' _Come on, let's go_!' can be heard before the growls drown out everything else.

My panting begins to transition into short breaths, as I take my backpack and slip it under my head.

I think we've earned a short rest, if only for a little while.

* * *

 ** _Captain Aristotle Onassis,_**  
 ** _Snow Island Mentor_**

 **The Training Centre- Mentor's Lounge** **  
** **Downtown Core, Capitol City** **  
** **3:00 PM.**

* * *

"Well, _shit_." snorts Tertius, lighting a cigar as he continues to spectate the scenes before him.

 _"'Well, shit.'_ is an understatement for moments like these." I chide, while Zenobia and her pals from District 1 and 2 cheer fervently as Rafaela's partner' brain is splattered across the screens for all of Panem to see.

Annabelle Starling - still flustered by the death of her female tribute - continues to chug away at a row of rainbow shots. Her escort Harriet tries to wean the applejack Victor, to no avail. Clarence of District 11 seems unfazed by the death of the male tribute from his district. He nudges Celosia and offers her a cig, which she takes. Paisley and Zinnia seem taken aback, but I suppose the younger one is more viable. Malachi of District 8 seems shocked, but District 9 Escort Sindy Wellington does a good job of calming him down, alongside his own Escort Janice. Doris also consoles a distraught Gwendolyn.

 _Yep_ , all in all a typical launch day within the Games Room - a luxurious bar situated on the top floor of the Training Centre with a view to die for. I'm quite impressed at how fast my pupils have taken to their expectations of Victorhood. Hailing from a semi-career _'district'_ while pulling off joint victories with a plethora of fans behind them, they're off to an impeccable start to say the least.

Francisco seems to be taking to his title of "Career" quite quickly, as he is _right_ in the thick of things- cheering along with Glisten and Cassius as their tributes pummel their opposition. Joyceta on the other hand continues to eye the screen- arms folded, hips sashaying as Rafaela and Landry settle in for a power nap. Cautious yet youthfully idealistic, I've decided she was the more articulate one out of the duo. In a couple years or two, she'll be ready to take up the mantle in my stead.

"I wouldn't have done what she did," murmurs Joyceta as she takes a seat next to me, adjusting her navy high-waist skirt while leaning in close. "Then again, I'm _sorta glad_ she did it."

I nod, downing the rest of my drink. "Rafaela's crafty and has her father's ingenuity. Doing what she did was better than the alternative." I say, giving my watch a quick glance.

"It's about _seventeen-hundred_ eastern now. That display should be enough blood to sate them for the evening. _What_ , with all the dead stumbling around the arena and all."

Tertius turns to us now, the District 3 mentor patting Joyceta on the back as he chuckles deeply. "Say, ain't this y'first bloodbath!? Lemme buy ya' a drink, you're an honorary now."

"I'm sorry Colonel," the ninety-fourth Victor smiles, fishing out a golden miniature crucifix from her white black-collar and cuff shirt. "I don't drink. And aren't I a _little_ too young . . .?"

Tertius raises his hands in faux surrender. "Okay, _someone_ has morals . . . 'ey Verena," he snaps toward our Avox bartender as she raises a curious eyebrow. "Let's have one Shirley Temple f'r the young lady ov'r 'ere!"

"So _what_ ," Marissa says aloud, her voice tinged with confusion and shock. She jabs a finger at the television. "No one is going to talk about those _THINGS_ shambling around? What the _fuck_ are they!?"

All our eyes glance back at the giant flat screen behind the bar counter, watching on as dozens of reanimated corpses embark on the arena.

"If you looked at the arena overview with all the bombed out stuff strewn around, the mutts seem to tie in with that overall theme. You know, with the uniforms and stuff . . ." says Ainsley as she continues to monitor the flat screen on the wall.

"They look like something out of a _Halloween flick_." adds Glisten.

"Ain't nothin' I've ever seen in a Games before, Snow knows I'm glad _I didn't_." says Paisley with folded arms.

"Well," says Doris, jabbing a finger at Tertius and I. "Look no further than our two resident war heroes!"

All eyes descend on the Colonel and me as he offers gruff shrug. "The hell do I know!? I served on the west coast; I know nothin' 'bout the east coast. All I know was that it was a _bloodbath_ for th' Rebs."

I could feel my being retreat further into my body as their eyes shift over to me.

"Well Captain, care to shed a little light on our arena?" asks Piper of District 5.

I let out a dry laugh, smoothing down my gelled hair as I reach for a _Lucky Drag._ I light it up, taking a heavy inhale before lazily exhaling through the corners of my mouth. Heh, _civvies . . ._

"I think I have a _slight_ idea . . . It's nothing concrete, but it's an idea nonetheless." I muse, motioning for them to take a seat a little bit closer.

"Gather around and I'll give you the gist. It's probably still _classified_ , but then again it'll be quite obvious once you learn. And _remember_ , the Games have started so consider this history lesson to be a _favor_. I still have tributes to look out for . . ."

Like eager children, the Victors and the Escorts on hand quickly huddle into the closest booths and stools that were available.

" _So_ , as you may know . . . our Captiol tends to be _particularly brutal_ when it comes to dealing with dissidents. Now, try to imagine that _brutality_ on a battlefield . . ."

* * *

 ** _Note:_** There we are, the bloodbath. Six casualties all in all. Thank you those who have taken interest in my work here, and those who might have a tribute and are quietly spectating on the sidelines. I'll elaborate and repeat myself once more once I get to my _**"Day one, part two"**_ chapter to elaborate on things, such as deaths, the direction of this phase of my story . . . and so forth.

 _ **"Haus Der Toten"**_

. . . if you fancy the German language, or are a video game junkie like myself, you probably already knew the gist of the Games from the beginning. If you move over to my "concept" chapter, which I had for a while (only to fix it up and reform things.) you'll see the basis of why I chose the arena I did.


	23. Operation: KALEIDOSCOPE

_**Haus Der Toten; The 95th Hunger Games  
Capitol Interlude: "Operation: KALEIDOSCOPE."**_

 _ **Double update, go back for the bloodbath.**_

* * *

 _"Listen Neverson, I'm trying to eat here so I'll just give you my two cents. Take it as you will. Capitol military officials, pampered at prestigious colleges, have no clue how to fight a war - especially when we're fighting against a rather determined, angry mob. If you ask me, let District 2 handle the war effort. You know, the people who are just as loyal and determined **to and for** the Capitol just as the Rebels are for their 'Mockingjay'? Give the loyalists incentives to remain loyal. Start up militias in the Districts._

 _Instead of remaining on the defensive and being blindsided like what happened in District 5 and 7, fight like they would fight - with malice and little regard for morality. We have muttations, planes, tanks, why aren't we using them? District 9? Send locusts to salt their crops. District 7? Douse their forests with napalm. Take a district, cut them off and pound them into submission._

 _It's rather simple, a kaleidoscope of death and despair. Show them the true definition of war and the price it brings. The Rebels are like incessant children, so, **punish** them like incessant children."_ \- **Gideon Montresor, 2141**

* * *

 _"I remember the day we pried 11 from Thirteen's greedy fingers. It was hot, muggy. Bodies were strewn everywhere, the mutts didn't hold back. The air constantly smelled like ozone from our new plasma rifles. I enjoyed every moment of it. The despair, the desperation . . . the retaking of District 11 marked the beginning of the end, truly._

 _Did the Rebs really think they could dispose of the Capitol that easily? Because of a rat from District 12 and her berries? Hmph, I can't imagine anything positive coming out of this once we win this war. I wouldn't want to be sporting a mockingjay armband if I were them." -_ **Unnamed Peacekeeper Corporal detailing his thoughts on the Fall of District 11, November 2143.**

* * *

 _ **Petra Newman, aged 20.**_  
 _ **District 13**_ _ **Soldier**_

 _ **District 11-8 border,  
**_ _ **Friday November 8th, 2143**_

* * *

 _"Red Three-Six . . . this is . . . Red Three-Six Charlie, over?"_

 _"This is Red Three-Six, go ahead, over?"_

 _"Roger, we're taking heat from our right flank. We're two klicks out from the mansion, begin evac NOW! We can't hold here much longer, we got whiteys all over the damn place, over!"_

...

"Soldier Newman, get on your feet, NOW!"

Something solid collides with my cheek, prompting my eyes to pop open in surprise.

To my shock I'm positioned upside down, secured by seat belts. Smoke and heat lick my face as I turn to my left. Lieutenant Powell checks Kaplan and McGowan. Both are slumped in their seats, blood leaking from their mouth, nose and head. Judging by how battered their faces were and the dents in their heads, it looks as if they've taken a massive beating of sorts.

. . . What happened? We were en route to District 8 after the retreat order was issued from Command, on a highway. Everything was going smoothly until a whir pierced the air and then . . .

I stifle a moan, hissing as my brain pangs with shock and fatigue. Powell slips her index finger under the neck of both Kaplan and McGowan, hissing a curse under her breath as her chocolate eyes dart to mine. Her dark skin is caked with grime as her ebony white smile beams through the thick smoke.

"Good, you're _alive_. Soldier McGowan and Soldier Kaplan are KIA; we got whiteys converging on us as we speak. We need to get out of here before it's too late." she plants a knife firmly into my right hand.

"Cut yourself loose and meet me outside, we don't have time to waste!"

Nodding, I slide the blade across the left strap then toss the blade into my left hand, doing the same to the right strap. I fall to my knees, groaning as my head continues to pang from the blood beginning to flow back.

To my left, the hatch of the APC is blown open, leaving the black door discarded on the dirt road. Without a moment's hesitation I begin crawling towards the exit. As I become coherent again, the distinct chatter of automatic fire could be heard. Yelling, whining and bursts from plasma fire becomes more and more audible.

"Somebody help me, _PLEASE_!"

As I reach the exit, a battered Rebel crashes onto the dirt in front of me. There's a loud shriek as the shaken man pulls out his rifle, only to groan loudly as the weapon appears to be out of ammunition.

"C'mon man, shit, _fuckin' mutt_!"

The shriek turns into a flapping of wings as the Rebel pulls out his sidearm, firing haphazardly at the thing that continues to assault him. I see a talon reach out and hook the man by his vest, prompting him to scream out in fear. I reach out my hand as he notices me and does the same.

Unfortunately, he's too late.

He's carried off to . . . _god knows_ where after desperately clinging to the exit of the overturned truck only to be pried off.

"Hurry up Newman!" barks Powell, unloading a clip from her rifle towards the flying mutt as I emerge from the overturned car. Tossing me an AK, she picks up a communicuff from a dead officer I recognize as Major Evans- whose body is mangled from the overturn. I slap in a fresh magazine as she scurries on top of an overturned Humvee.

 ** _"Alright, listen up soldiers! We're surrounded; we have PK's converging on our position as we speak. We have to hold our positions until the reserves evacuate our forward command po-"_**

"We got hoverplanes coming in hot!" barks a fellow rebel. " _GET DOWN_!"

That ominous whir infamous to the Capitol's jets pierce the air as two of them come into view. The ground rumbles as the war machines let loose with their Gatling cannons. Armored cars explode and unlucky soldiers are rendered into paste as the jets strafe by. One moment, I'm planted firmly on the ground, the next I'm tumbling through the air, my head throbbing once more and my ears ringing up something fierce as the smoke begins to clear.

Fellow troopers tumble out of a burning husk of a truck, trying to pat out the flames that envelop their bodies to no avail. One kid- oblivious to his current condition - attempts to crawl to safety, his legs are . . . _nonexistent_.

Lieutenant Powell aids a limping rebel off her feet and motions her towards the woods as a fellow soldier aides her over the guardrail. As soon as my eyes catch hers, she sprints to my aid - her rifle hoisted at the ready. She says something to me, _I think._ It's as if someone had turned down the volume on a television.

" _Petraareyoualright?!_ " my ears hear, her words coming out jumbled and incoherent as her hands roam my body for injuries that aren't there . . . I think.

Only until Powell darts off elsewhere, do I take in the environment around me. Directly to my left, is a forest. To my right is a large field and more forest. It's the middle of it all that baffles me. The combat sims couldn't prepare you enough for the scenes before me.

 ** _"Here they come soldiers, hold! Down with the Capitol!"_**

The road and surrounding areas are caked with muddy craters as Capitol soldiers and Rebels engage in close quarters combat as the bulk of my unit- dazed and battered by the strafing run - slowly falls back towards the woods to our left.

Combatants, both friend and foe, die left and right as gunfire rings out and shells hiss overhead. Our convoy is in a state of wreckage, with some armored cars being blown to bits, overturned, or currently engaged with the enemy - utilizing their machine guns.

One Peacekeeper, his white uniform caked with blood and mud, bludgeons a Rebel with a spade as he tries to crawl out of the crater they were in.

Another Peacekeeper, despite being bayoneted by the Rebel he assaults, savagely beats the man to death with a rock.

One Rebel clubs a Peacekeeper with the butt of his rifle, only for sparks to splash across his chest as a Peacekeeper riddles him with plasma bolts- his body slumping into a crater.

A group of Peacekeepers, close to my age, let out cat calls and cheer as retreating Rebels try desperately to scramble out of the crater they were in. The teens dragged the unlucky rebels back into the crater. All you could see were a flurry of arms wielding clubs, knives and spades going up and down, up and down as bloodied hands are raised in futile surrender. The children laugh regardless, continuing their assault. _By the way they conducted themselves; they were probably_ _Careers_ _once, finally getting to put their skills to use now that the Hunger Games were postponed._

A fellow soldier from Thirteen engages the enemy with a turret from one of the intact armored cars. His body is riddled with violet bolts of plasma, as a plasma shell from a tank slams into the truck and overturns it - crushing another fellow soldier. More of our troops begin to flee their positions as the tank rolls onto the field. A plasma gun turret fixed onto the mass of armor renders them into charcoal as the machine continues its massacre.

The scene could only be described as _hell on earth_. We were _losing_. There was too many of them, and too little of us. We were being massacred.

Before I could get my bearings, a large dog-like animal pounces off the wreckage of a car, ripping the throat out of a fellow soldier before slamming into me. The mutt growls into my face as its mouth splits into four tendrils while trying to sink its teeth into my neck.

The spit from the mutt peppers my face as the monstrosity lets out angered roar. Clutching its neck between my hands as it goes for another bite, I quickly twist - causing an audible crack as the mutt yelps in pain, slumping on top of me.

 ** _"Fall back, fall back, fall back towards the mansion NOW!"_**

She turns to me, pulling me along as she slings her rifle over her shoulder. "Run Petra, _RUN_! Let's go!"

She doesn't have to tell me twice. Firing a burst from my AK, I join Lieutenant Powell and the surviving rebels as we flee into the woods, enemy plasma peppering our feet as a tank shell slams into a nearby tree.

Any ally still fighting off the Peacekeepers is picked off with ease. Glancing back at the ruined convoy, all I see is a field of white, as Peacekeepers supported by tanks and armored cars alongside eager mutts continue to chase us down. Old world rock music was being blasted from speakers as the Peacekeepers continue their chase. Violet streaks of plasma whiz past us as we begin our escape into the woods.

 _"Red Three-Six, defence attempt FAILED, we're falling back on a northerly bearing!"_ Powell barks over my COMM.

 _"Where's Major Evans, over!?"_

 _"He's KIA!"_

 _"Lieutenant, we don't have time to evacuate all the wounded!"_

 _"Well MAKE time!"_

What happened . . .? Why were we losing? Just two years ago, we were at the Capitol's doorstep . . . then, the mutts started to become more frequent, small towns were razed overnight, the Peacekeepers became more aggressive. The western Districts began to fall like dominoes. The Capitol retook Atlanta. The rebellion was failing. The Mockingjay, with her spirit, her perseverance and all that she stood for, surely justice and liberty were supposed to be the victors of this conflict?

I trip over a log and quickly regain my stride, only to watch as an unlucky solider is sent flying from a shell exploding in front of him.

 ** _"Look out, hoverplane!"_**

In the clearing, a Capitol hoverplane blinks into view. A side compartment slides open, revealing a Peacekeeper with a Gatling-gun. A loud _brrrrrrrrrrrrt_ can be heard as bolts of plasma pepper us as we continue our mad dash towards the mansion. Some of us are quickly felled by the turret fire with some unlucky ones being completely vaporized by the gunfire, while those wounded by the hoverplane are killed off by pursuing mutts.

A convoy that consisted of thousands of fighting men and women, now consisted of hundreds as muttations chased us down with Peacekeepers not too far behind us.

I hiss as a bolt of plasma streaks past my left arm, I could already feel the skin blistering over from the heat but I pay it no mind. We just have to get to the _mansion_ , into a hoverplane and we'll be in Thirteen in no time, back with Ma and Da . . . _Theta and Thom._

Minutes of running produces fruitful results, as the forest transitions into a wide field converging onto the mansion. The field is strewn with equipment, turrets, soldiers and rebels, who flee at the sight of muttations and roaring Peacekeepers. Some fellow soldiers fire wildly into the air and surrounding forest with stationary turrets while fleeing soldier's fire bursts as we continue towards the mansion.

Powell and I turn as the hum of a Capitol jet is heard in the distance. We slow our pace just as the _brrrrrrrrrrrrrrt_ of its cannon could make work of us. Unfortunately for a handful of fellow revolutionaries, they were turned to paste and parts as the jet made its strafing run.

 _ **"Everyone to the hoverplanes, move it, move it!"**_ Powell yells over the COMM.

As one giant mob we move towards the makeshift tarmac, towards the cluster of hoverplanes as one of them is about to take off. However, the jets were making another strafing run.

 _ **"Red three-six Charlie, this is red three-six, we're airborne! See you at comma-"**_

Everyone froze in their tracks as the tarmac was destroyed in a ball of flames. The airborne hoverplane had its left wing blown off as it crashed belly up on the other side of the field.

For what felt like an eternity, we stood there- motionless. There was no more means of escape. The only sounds being the distant whining of plasma fire and yells. There were the woods, but the mutts would make sport of us for sure and surrendering would ensure a slow, teasing death. If I could see my face it would be akin to Lieutenant Powell's, long and downcast. As if her entire being as shattered before her very eyes.

 _ **"To the mansion, double time!"**_ Powell yells, as hundreds of us rush towards the gigantic chateau.

I kick the grand doors open, as we all pour into the large foyer. I help a fellow soldier with a mortally wounded ally, a gaping, smoking wound in the middle of his chest. _Plasma wound no doubt._ The foyer was filled with wounded _,_ stretchers and equipment of various types. Pennants bearing the symbol of the mockingjay and District 13 are hung up around the foyer as a giant COMM screen is fixated between two grand steps.

Now what? What do we do? What the _hell_ do we do now?!

* * *

 _Outside the mansion, rebel troops maimed by the fighting continued to moan in agony as a fog from the various weapon discharge wafts throughout the battlefield. As they lay wounded, all they could do was listen as the sounds of mechanic whirring and ominous breathing slowly became more and more evident._

 _From the forest in which Petra and her unit came from, Peacekeepers clad in protective NBC suits* supported by a platoon of five upgraded M1 Abrams tanks kept a tight formation as they emerged. Newly issued plasma rifles primed and ready, the masked Capitol troops slowly made their way through the field as they continued to massacre straggling rebels while they withered in pain among their dead comrades or raised their hands in surrender. The rebels hiding within the estate could only sit idle, flinching at the flashes of violet and the pained screams that preceded them._

 _The lead tank ground to a halt, the top hatch opened up to reveal a Peacekeeper Officer. Youthful and alluring with sultry curves that would make many women jealous, one would think a woman like her would lead a life as a model in Capitol Couture, not a Peacekeeper Major within the armed forces._

 _Two Peacekeepers quickly came to her aid, offering their hands as support as she flashed the men a ruby-lipped smile. With her ambitious eyes - light blue irises brought out with the moonlight - she gazes over to the estate in which the traitors were held up._

 _"Major, we have the remainder of the insurgents surrounded." said a Peacekeeper Sergeant as he handed the Major her peaked cap. She secured it over her sweaty platinum blonde updo._

 _She nodded, securing her grey leather trench coat over the shoulders of her uniform. Keeping in tradition of Capitol pomp and fashion, her uniform consisted of an off grey-white, silver-buttoned, black striped field tunic adored with commendations such as the iron Panemian eagle around her neck. Her pants - grey-white jodhpurs with black lines on the sides, came with long leather boots and a "Sam Browne" belt over her white breastplate._

 _She nodded and with her hands clasped casually behind her back, she makes a motion with her head as her company of Peacekeepers continued to move forward. With her polished boot, she nudged the rebel bodies with disdain and trampled over soiled mockingjay banners as she sauntered toward the grand estate. On the ground up ahead laid a wounded rebel soldier, his midsection scorched by a bolt of plasma. One could assume he was at least twenty years or younger. Nonetheless, his time on this earth was nigh._

 _"Ack, ack, ack, ack! Water . . . Could I please have some water?" he moaned._

 _Without casting the poor boy a glance she stepped over him - aiming her plasma revolver at his head - the recoil violently pumping her arm upward as his face imploded from the slug._

 _Peacekeepers continued to fire upon the chateau, blowing out windows and scorching the walls black with plasma bolts. With a black gloved fist raised into the air, she successfully gets the assaulting Peacekeepers to cease fire. Their rifles hiss in unison as Peacekeepers surrounded the building, taking cover behind debris._

 _From their COMMS the female Peacekeeper Major, with a crisp Capitol accent said,_

 _ **"Splendid job ladies and gentlemen, you have performed a great service for your Capitol. The slaughter of these radicals will serve as a fitting deterrent, saving countless lives."**_

* * *

"What's going on out there Soldier Neath?"

"I'm not sure Lieutenant Powell . . . they've stopped firing." says Neath who continues to peer out the window. I check the pulse of the man who we dragged in, sighing to myself as I feel nothing under my finger. _Shit . . ._

"Soldier Barrow, have you had any contact with Command?"

"No ma'am, our COMMS is being jammed. I can't get through to them."

"We're screwed man, totally screwed! They're gonna turn us into Avoxes man, or worse, experiment on us and turn us into mutts or something!" squeals a Rebel.

"Quit yer blabberin' kid, as long as I have breath in me, I ain't becomin' no Avox! As long as we're breathin' liberty ain't dead yet. I say hit me with yer best shot, you Cappies!" Soldier Orson yells out the window.

Some of us smile at the act of bravado. As long as we continue to kick, the rebellion is a force to be reckoned with. We're just one out of hundreds of thousands.

 _"ATTENTION REBELS!"_ a feminine Capitol voice barks out in the distance.

We each hug the nearest window, ready to make our last stand. Fellow soldiers bust open a window to fit through a machine gun as they aim it down range towards the voice.

We jump again as the giant COMM monitor switches on. The faces on screen belong to two fellow rebels. The women among us shriek, the men making uneasy moans as the one of the boys' throats is slit before our very eyes, the second one has his head imploded as a plasma pistol is leveled at his temple.

The camera switches to a high ranking Peacekeeper. A red armband with the autocratic eagle that represents the Capitol is sported on her right arm. Her demeanor screams pampered Capitol, with her golden blonde locks secured in a tight updo, her ruby red lips in a tight yet coy sneer, her eyes a piercing blue. I wonder how a woman so "beautiful" could've found her way into the military to begin with.

 _"Hello there. I am Major Viondra DeWynter, a Peacekeeper within the Panemian Peacekeeping Forces."_ her Capitol accent is posh and refined, on par with that of Snow or any other big wig in that stupid city. Add on her mastery of femininity and you have a silver-tonuged, calculating Peacekeeper on your hands. Who knows, maybe she slept her way to Major.

 _"I'll make this quick and simple. I'd advise you to take a glance around your surroundings."_

The camera then pans across the outside of the chateau, I stand motionless as the ruined fields decorated with smoldering craters, bodies of comrades and ruined vehicles are showcased before us.

 _"As you can clearly see, you are_ _surrounded,_ _your_ _"armies"_ _decimated! But alas . . . the Capitol is without malice. Surrender now and perhaps a deal can be arranged."_

I cast an uneasy glance around the foyer. The same Rebel who whined before continues to murmur to himself, clutching his rifle as he cradles back and forth. All eyes turn to Lieutenant Powell, who stands in the middle of the foyer. The once formidable, fearless and quick-thinking lieutenant was for once, at loss for words as she returned the nervous gaze back at us. Her dark skin was ashen with fear as her head shook slowly.

"I-I um," Powell murmurs as she adjusts her goggled field cap haphazardly. "I'm not quite sure what to d-"

"Hey, listen up Capitol DOGS," barks Orson out the window he hides near. "WE AIN'T GOIN' DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT. IF WE BURN, YOU BURN WITH US, DO YOU HEAR ME?!"

Half the room bursts into cheers as a small respite washes over the foyer. Even Powell and I manage a slight grin. We still have a hat in this race, even if the odds are insurmountable as they seem. However, one small part of me thinks Orson's act of defiance was going to be met with a just as harsh rebuttal.

Major DeWynter scowls darkly at the cheer, then after a slight moment, begins to cackle with laughter as the cheers die down. The smiles and bravado are replaced with uneasy frowns and constant glances out the window towards the white mob that stands stationary outside.

"What's so funny, Capitol lapdog!?" yells one Solider as the Peacekeeper continues to guffaw with a soft moan. She stops now, wiping a tear from her eye as she instantly regains her posh demeanor.

 _"Defiant until the end I see."_ she nods slowly, fumbling with something in her pocket. _"I'm surprised none of your superiors were concerned about choosing a pristine mansion in the middle of nowhere as your operating base. Didn't any of you find that a tad off?"_

She laughs again as the foyer is swamped with concerned murmurs. She was partly right . . . when we first stumbled upon this place. It looked untouched by the nuclear ash and the neglect that followed. We had just assumed it was a rich Capitol's mansion of sorts. She sighs, motioning for her troops to fall back towards waiting hovercraft.

 _"Anywho, with the power vested in me as a vanguard of Capitol law, I charge you with sedition and multiple counts of murdering a Peacekeeper. Your sentence you ask? Well my friends, nothing short of agonizing_ ** _death_** _."_

" _I'll allow you to have your little Alamo, but rest assured your deaths will be anything but one of a warrior's, but one akin to that of a sniveling coward."_

She slips a gas mask on. Along with her Peacekeepers she slowly slithers backward into the yellow gas that now begins to swamp the field. Those of us who aren't composed now begin to scream in panic as loud moans and crazed cackles are heard in the distance.

 _"Let the . . . 75th and a half Hunger Games begin?"_ she laughs, the COMM screen flickering to static.

My heartbeat floods my ears as I, like all the other able bodied soldiers, follow Lieutenant Powell to the centre of the room as the gas seeps through the grand doors and the windows. The wounded that lay immobile on the stretchers could only wretch and hack as the gas envelopes them in a yellow shroud.

"MA'AM, THE OTHER DOORS AREN'T OPENING! They WON'T budge!" the same younger rebel cries as he darts to one door, then another in a futile attempt to escape the gas. All of us jump in fear, our weapons cocked and pointed towards the grand stairs as a slight whirring can be heard.

Panels on the wall turn towards the stairs as streaks of red beams of light start down then work their way up. Two holographic bodies of what appear to be well dressed children begin to appear. A dark skinned boy and a pale skinned girl are made at the top of the stairs.

Their faces at first are neutral and uncaring, until their holograms flicker into an unsettling smile.

After that, _all hell_ breaks loose.

* * *

 _ **With the rebellion quelled in District 11, Panem's military and those loyal enough to take arms in their stead, would mop up the resistance in District's 8, 9 and 6, then roughly spend a year taking down District 13.**_

 _ **With their resistance in 11 liquidated, the rebellion lost all their breathing room in regards to air power due to 11's landmass. If you wonder about District 9, due to the housing of nuclear weapon silos within the District, the Capitol was quick to lock down the region.**_

 _ **The rest of the Districts are effectively siphoned off and beaten back into submission as the Capitol could now focus all its attention on Thirteen.**_ _ **Who knows what would've happened if Montresor's halfhearted advice wasn't heeded.**_

* * *

 ** _*NBC suit=_** Nuclear Biological Chemical suit. Used to protect the user from hazardous conditions.

 _ **Operation KALEIDOSCOPE?=**_ When devising the reasons for why the rebellion failed when I first started this story, I made it so that the Capitol increased their brutality and changed their tactics enough to turn the tide of the war- be it using muttations on their populace, the no taking of prisoners and cordoning off each District before gutting it of rebellion from the inside out without support from say . . . District 13.

I have Elim9 to thank for that actually . . .Hehehehe. It's because of her character that she sent to me, why part of my headcanon exist. Thank you Elim, I kind of almost forgot, it's funny when I think about it.

If you checked my little mini blog about my universe, you would have an inkling of why my version of Panem is the way it is.


	24. Day One - Evening

**_Haus Der Toten; The 95th Hunger Games  
_ Day One (Evening)**

* * *

 **Viondra DeWynter,  
Vice-President of Panem**

 **The DeWynter Country Club & Residence,  
Elyisum Heights, Capitol City. **

* * *

I'm elated that I followed my hunch concerning my excommunication from memos about the upcoming arena design. I suppose it's _true_ what they say about surprises. Once the commercials were through and they _finally_ got on with it, I was taken aback. Surveying those pock-marked craters and hulls of tanks made me feel like a young twenty-something again, a gal doing her duty for _Snow and Country . . ._

Being such an affluent family of statesmen with no form of debt on our heads, Mother and Father were absolutely shocked when I decided to enlist . . . the former rather than the latter. At first I was only a human resources administrator - father pulled his strings to get me a cozy desk job in the National Defence Headquarters at government sector downtown. However, as the Third Quarter Quell was suspended and war was declared shortly after, I was swept into combat.

 _Oh Panem,_ I feel so _silly_ thinking about it - exchanging my extravagant dresses and plethora of handsome suitors in exchange for off-white fatigues and a rifle. I found it rather frightening, how I transitioned from ballroom dancing and house-making to executing and killing on demand. As much as I enjoy my confident air, I never really reconciled with my service during the war. I consider it to be a blessing _and_ a handicap at the same time.

What's a little discomfort on my end in exchange for a united Panem, _hm?_

 _No. 2 Panemian Mechanized Brigade Group-_

 _Atlanta D11, November 2143_

A light sigh escapes my lips as I continue to eye the picture frame in my hands. I suppose the ambitious young woman lying seductively on her tank as her fellow troops smiled proudly or flashed a bunny ear or two still lives on till this day. She lives as a modern-day Venus on the cusp of power and _all its various strings_.

Peacekeeping just so happens to accentuate all the traits _yours truly_ has an affinity in exercising.

" _Vi_ , come back to earth, doll." breaths Antonius, his voice husky as his hand snakes under the silk covers. It gently roams across my bare arm and the curve of my hip, only stopping as I clasp the curious appendage.

It's an open secret that Antonius Rose is quite the swinger - _as am I_ \- with a penchant for various tastes in the opposite sex. I remember it like _yesterday_ \- Me, being the impressionable yet zealous nineteen year old cadet at North Point Military Academy and he being the thirty-something senior military lawyer who was unhappy with his wife - who till _this day_ he's still with. The sharing of alike minds concerning the acquisition of power and leverage, on top of his dysfunctional home life led to a fervent romance which continues until this day _precisely -_ as we bask in the afterglow of our lovemaking.

Out of all his conquests, I'm _surprised_ I stuck. I suppose I got a hold on him as he does me - in _more ways than one_ given recent events . . .

"Easy there Toni," I purr, slipping the picture back into my drawer as I swat his hand away. "We wouldn't want to make a _second_ , _do we_?"

He lets out a snort, rising upward against the headboard. "They still believe that whole . . . ' _procedure_ ' bit?"

I jostle my head while rising out of my expansive four-post bed as I slip on a black silk robe. I stop at my shoulder, smirking at his lustful gaze as I continue to put on the garment and secure it with a tie. " _Come, come_ ," I trill, waggling a finger toward the man. "I think I hear her squirming, and I sent Celeste and the other Avoxes away to their quarters for the evening."

* * *

"I'm still confused as to why you _kept_ it in the first place." mutters Antonius, as he cradles the tiny being in his arms. Matilda's hair, already a full set, is platinum blonde - a mixture between my golden blonde and his gray. Her eyes, if they were open, were a beady dark blue. I'm not quite sure where the darkened shade comes from, I suppose that's a mixture between Toni and I's shades. I lean against the door frame, my arms folded against my frame.

"Keep talking like _that_ and I'll relegate you to _'family friend'_ status."

He chuckles, exhaling cigarette smoke away from Matilda. " _Hey hey_ , easy there now Vi. I just find it odd that a woman like you with such a . . . _cult of personality_ would want a child. You _are_ Panem's Helen of Troy, after all."

I offer a slight shrug, securing my silk robe around my frame as I continue to watch him observe our daughter. My preferences are . . . _non-monogamous_ to say the least. Why stay tied down to one man or woman when there are _plenty?_ He and I were at a launch party during Year 94 with a couple of colleagues. As per most parties within _certain_ circles, things _kicked off_ and here we are with baby Matilda. Luckily I wasn't _totally_ inebriated to forget I ended off the evening with Antonius himself. Nonetheless, he's correct. Children were not in mind when it came to my future aspirations, yet now as I watch Toni coddle our child I can't stave off that warm _maternal_ feeling that envelops me.

"Well," I begin while embracing him from behind as I place my chin on his shoulder, my hands on his chest. "You always say your children with Agatha are aimless. Think of Matilda as a _monument_ to what _we_ share. With me as her mother, you already know she's in _more than capable_ hands."

He concurs with a single, gentle nod. "Sounds charming Vi, I'd imagine that Matilda will be an _immaculate_ daughter! Better than Trinity and Quinlan hopefully . . . Spoiled brats, the both of them."

Just as I raise a finger in reply, Agent Dalliare of my protection detail gently raps at the door frame as he clears his throat.

"Madam Vice-President, your guest has arrived." my bodyguard nods. "She's in the Guest Wing, as per your request."

An expression of confusion is splayed on Toni's mug in contrast to my knowing smirk as I saunter toward the doorway. "Thank you Agent Dalliare, you are dismissed for now."

"You have _guests_?" Antonius murmurs, his feet patting against the ground as I tug him along with me. "I thought you had no engagements until tomorrow?" he continues as I cluck my tongue, escorting him through pristine corridors with marble pillars and sienna walls.

"This engagement is one of a more ' _intimate_ ' nature. I think you'll enjoy it immensely, as will I."

We come up on an intricate ivory door with golden accents. Antonius still has that perplexed look on his face, morphing into a baffled gaze as I swing the door open. Sitting down on the expansive four-post bed was none other than District 2's very own Zenobia Rivendell, Victor of the Seventy-Seventh Annual Hunger Games - clad in a revealing white negligee, _frills and all._ She's a _highly_ sought after courtesan, as the Victor is exalted for her beauty just as much as her ferocity in the field.

"Madam Vice-President . . . Minister Rose." the woman purrs, batting a smoky eyelid towards us.

Antonius cranes his head toward me. "My my . . . Viondra you have _truly_ outdone yourself."

I gesture towards her. "Zenobia and I were talking about how much of an affinity you had for her tribute, Aliyah Marini was it?" I smirk as he affirms with a nod. " _So_ , I thought that maybe you and I could help Miss Rivendell earn Aliyah a sponsor item in the meantime. What do you say?"

Another speechless nod is all I needed to know, as I gently jut my foot towards the door, closing it.

* * *

 ** _Landry Danton, 15, District 7_**

* * *

Did we make it . . .? Did I pull 'em through quick enough to avoid the Career Pack?

Still wracked with the urge to fall back into slumber, I force myself to sit upward, disregarding that 'lopsided' feeling people usually get when they arise too quickly. I'm still situated in the middle of a wide-ranging hallway, splayed across the checker-tiled floor like road kill. It still seems to be raining outside judging by the roar of rolling thunder through the slightly ajar window. I'm surprised the Careers didn't give chase and I'm even _more surprised_ no one has come across us and slit our _throats_ while we caught our breaths.

There are only so many freebies you could get in the Hunger Games. We have to get moving again.

"Tamir, Rafaela?" I mutter, giving my eyes a flutter or two as I prepare to stand. "Are y-"

"Ah, you're up." an accented voice muses.

My eyes shift over to Rafaela, who leans against a pillar as she checks over her gear in a rucksack. As I continue to look around, Tamir appears to have up and vanished outta _nowhere_. I could've sworn Tamir came with Rafaela as I tugged her over, _no_?

"Where's Tamir?" I inquire, sauntering ever so close to her. I'm slightly confused as she slowly slinks backward, her face obscured by the shadow of the curtain and the pillar that looms over her. What's wrong with her? Why is she in the corner in between the curtains like some _creeper_? Only when I see her face - splashed with blood and peppered with bits of what appears to be darkened blobs of flesh - do I remember the desperate struggle to get Rafaela and Tamir over the balcony as Luana let her spear fly.

". . . _Rafaela_ ," I say - my voice low and my head inclined. "Where is Tami-?"

"Tamir is _dead_." Rafaela says flatly, jutting her head towards the window. Casting a sideways glance, I stride over to the balcony and peer over. With a inward grimace, I shudder at the splotch of blood that caked the marble balcony . . . then the giant hole in the glass ceiling of the greenhouse Tamir apparently crashed into.

" _How_?!"

"He was hanging by a thread when they caught up to us," Rafaela drawls as I continue to peer out into the drizzle, lost without words. "As soon as she lobbed the spear, there wasn't much wiggle room for any alternative. You were out like a light by the time you tugged me through, it was out of shock perhaps. As soon as the spear got him you shrieked, and I don't blame you."

She mutters on about something else, but I don't catch it. Regardless of our differences, he didn't deserve to get his life so viciously taken away like that. What of his parents? How did they decipher seeing their son's brain getting splattered across the screens of _millions_? Back home, people were pretty indifferent to one another, but at least when the time called for it, we came together.

"Sure . . . he was hardheaded, _ignorant_ even," I murmur, my knuckles turning white as they cling onto the balcony in front of me. "But he's still _home_ and my heart pangs out for him. While he was out there _defending_ us from those _mosswipes_ we call ' _Careers_ ', maybe _I_ should've been there beside him too."

Rafaela makes her way beside me, outstretching a cloth outside as it gets drenched by the drizzle. I offer to clean her face, to which she offers a curt nod in reply.

"If you followed his lead like I know you're capable of, _you_ would've been killed off too."

I let up patting her face down, wincing at her slight quip towards me. "How could you be so . . . _nonchalant_?"

One glance at her tanned face and hardened hazel eyes is enough answer for me. We're in the _Hunger Games._ I said it myself when Tamir decided to trip Vincent and reignite their attention back onto us. Besides . . . when you have chunks of someone's flesh plastered across your face, I would want want some distance too.

"I know, _I know . . . Snow,_ " I scoff, finishing up my swab of her face. "It's the Games, but I'm _pissed_ nonetheless."

Rafaela nods. "Si, I understand. Revenge is a dish best served _cold_." she mumbles 'gracias' as she wrings out the cloth and stuffs it back in her rucksack.

"Back on Marceline's show, you said that once the gong goes off you'll be 'more than willing' to put some action behind your words . . ." Rafaela muses as she rummages around the rucksack. She makes an elated noise as she withdraws a brown leather satchel. Smirking, she unravels the bundle - revealing various knives . . . knives that _I_ trained with. She plants the satchel in my arms.

"Well, instead of talking about your anger, _acting_ on it is the _only equalizer."_ she says with a firm nod, scowling out the window as another bout of moans ring out from below. " _Come_ , let's go. We need to find a place to hold up for the anthem and then the rest of the evening . . . hopefully someplace away from those _demonios."_

I reciprocate with a slight smile and a nod as we assemble our things and race down the hall. She was right. Now that we're here and now, it's time to put up or _shut up_. The Careers played their first card and now it's _our_ turn. They'll get theirs. Maybe not right now, but _soon_.

* * *

 ** _Rianne Verano, 16, District 9_**

* * *

Why did I choose the _woods_ of all things!?

Out of all the places to escape the walking dead, I choose a Snowforsaken _forest_ as evening comes. Well . . . if we escaped the bloodbath, we could escape the pack of zombified humans shambling after us too. At least I _hope_ we can.

"Where . . . are we gonna _go_?!" huffs Adele, her hand firmly clutched in mine.

I shake my head. _Why am I leading?!_ "We're going _anywhere_ but behind us _!"_ I wheeze, pointing towards an overturned log. "Jump!" I shout as we bound over a log.

Adele and I stomp through a puddle of water, wincing as another round of frenzied growls emit from the ghouls behind us. The drizzle brings a chilly air to the usually fair May weather, allowing our labored pants of breaths to be easily seen. My chest aches, burning harder than a run around the track at school. Adele seems to be in the same state as I am - her eyes glued forward with the occasional glance behind. The flurry of footsteps behind us makes me wonder if our undead pursuers are right on top of us or a dozen feet away.

"Look!" Adele breathes, her finger jutted forward. "A _house!"_

Just a little ways in front of us, on top of a very _very_ steep hill was a cottage of sorts just begging for Adele and me to seek refuge in it. Our only issue was _getting up_ there.

"How are we supposed to get up there without fainting down the hill into the hungry mouth's of those . . . _things_?!" Adele cries.

"No need for fainting!" I nod toward the concrete steps and steel railings. My heart soars at the sight. I'll assume that Adele's dropped as my feet ground to a wet halt, my sickle withdrawn and faced toward the pack of zombies that lurk our way.

"Rianne, _come!"_ she yearns, tugging my shoulder. "Those things don't look like they could climb stairs let alone a _hill_!"

I give my head a firm nod. "You and I both know we can't leave those things knocking at our doorstep, _especially overnight._ "

Yes, I doubt the Gamemakers would allow us to get overran so quickly early on, but I _can't_ sleep soundly knowing that those _things_ are out here. Who knows, maybe they'll attract _more_ as the evening moves on? So, I stand steadfast, Adele withdraws a sizable knife as the zombies skulk our way.

"Okay," she nods. "I'll follow your lead."

I offer a quick smile. People are always quick to praise me, but are my choices any _better_ than theirs? Well, we've gotten _this_ far.

Taking a quick headcount of the muttations, I notice that there are only _seven_ of them that managed to chase us here. I think back to the pictures my siblings Alisa, Calia, Connor and on occasion, Liz and Devyn would watch when we visited the city. In the pictures, zombies were _always_ weak in the head; the male from Snow Island showcased that back at the cornucopia. Before fleeing into the woods I saw Landry from District 7 slash a corpse in the chest, killing it. It would be a pretty quick Games if they only had _one_ weak point, so I suppose anything goes.

I stride forward, my sickle limp in my arms as I lunge toward the nearest ghoul. I slash upward across its chest with a spray of blackened blood, watching as it spins to the ground with a weak howl - limp. Adele hesitantly follows my lead, plunging her knife into the jaw of another before shoving it onto the ground. _That was fairly easy . . ._

With a glance toward each other - then to the remaining husks - we leap forward, our weapons drawn.

* * *

Barging through the door after a strenuous hike up the steep stairs, we find a lodge of sorts. It was decently furnished with rickety wooden floors and stone walls, albeit in a very messy condition. It was as if people just _got up_ and ran in a hurry. The lack of dust and utter disrepair would probably be credited to the Gamemakers prepping the arena for future use. A unique feature that makes this lodge significant would be the stretchers and military crates strewn about. Empty pouches, _needles,_ ammunition casings and other equipment were just some of the things Adele and I found while sifting through. None of it was of any use.

We've decided to stay here for the night, boarding up the front door as best we could before moving to a room on the upper level to get a vantage point over the mansion below. Again, the condition of the room is _near_ perfect apart from the probable layer of dust that coats the furniture. Adele and I could agree it would be much better than a sleeping bag under a damp tree.

"This seems like a good spot to stay for awhile." murmurs Adele, her hands motioning around the room. "We got a bed, washroom, a balcony with a nice view . . ."

I can't help but agree somewhat. "I guess so, although good things in the Games _never_ last."

"My Mentor Malachi told me to celebrate even the smallest victories," she shrugs, a weak smile on her lips. "So _let's."_

I return her smile with an equally weak expression, pointing towards the bed. "I see linens in the closet there, let's change the sheets on this bed and make it _somewhat_ comfortable."

So we do, changing the sheets on the perfectly sized bed with ones that are surprisingly decent. Again, we could probably thank the Gamemakers for making slight additions. It was a decently comfortable silence, with the aftermath of a confusing bloodbath looming over us.

 _One, two, three, four, five, six -_ six times the cannon booms throughout the area.

Adele glances out the window, then back to pillowcase again. "Six tributes have fallen this year."

"That's fairly quaint, given the atmosphere of this arena and all." I murmur, fluffing a pillow. "I think that it's only going to get worse as we progress."

She nods. "I think _James_ was one of them . . . not to mention _Joelle._ She didn't deserve that, neither did James."

 _Joelle,_ the mere mention of her name brings the frenzied memories of the past hour flowing back. For _Panem's_ sake, she had a family at home, a little sister and a brother! If how folks in District 9 break down when a relative is killed during the Games are any indication, I'd imagine that things were the same in Ten. Didn't James have a drunken brother and father back home as well? I can't imagine anything positive in relations to that. . . Then there's _me_. I _killed_ someone today. I cut his legs from under him and sent a blade though his _skull_. Even as I rub at my cheek now, dried flakes of _his_ blood smudge against my thumb. Of course he had a family, friends . . . maybe even a girlfriend? So _what_? _Joelle_ had a life of her own too, and he _barely_ hesitated to take that away from her.

What do Mom and Dad think? What do Alisa, Calia, Connor, Liz and Devyn alongside my classmates and my community at large thinks? What do they think about the sweetheart of the Verano girls, the free-spirit, the Utopian now that she's shed blood?

I suppose they would be elated knowing that I'm _alive_ . . . knowing full well that that's just the way it goes. He kills Joelle, I kill him . . . someone _probably_ kills me, so on and so forth. There's no such thing as a saint once the gong goes off.

Snow knows I'm not, not _anymore_.

* * *

 ** _Cveta Moscone, 15, District 6_**

* * *

 _I MADE IT, I MADE IT, I MADE IT!_

Even now, as Occo bludgeons zombie after zombie as we storm our way to the giant mansion before us, I can _barely_ contain my joy! Sure there were ghouls nipping at our tails, but with two close calls at the cornucopia I can't stave off the aura of luck I feel enveloped in. I thought I was a _goner_ when I bumped into the Four girl. Since the rising of the dead, it seems that _all_ of us have drawn a conclusion to cease fighting so we can continue another day. The boys from District 10 and 3 hobbled through the grand entrance of the estate before us. The Careers thankfully chased after Rafaela, Landry and Tamir, giving us ample time to escape unhindered.

"Let's go through the front!" shouts Occo, pointing towards the slightly ajar front doors.

"NO," retorts Valentina, rucksack jostling as she leaps over a corpse of a fallen ghoul. "Tributes already went that way, there has to be another way in!"

It turns out Valentina was _right_. Since two pairs of tributes already rushed the front entrance, we fought our way into a side entrance - hacking and slashing at any ghoul in our way.

Like the war-torn remnants that was the cornucopia and its surrounding field, the inside of the estate was comparable in terms of its overall condition. The windows, boarded up and blown out, were the most evident. The walls were pockmarked with bullet holes or missing chunks entirely. Furniture and military steamer trunks were strewn about, soiling the already ruined checkered floor.

Occo juts a finger toward the far end of the hallway. " _Look_ , there's a staircase dead ahead, follow me!"

Exchanging a nod with Valentina, our boots clack against the hallway as we sprint forward. Five of those _things_ break through the windows and the wood that boarded them up, halting our advance. Valentina, spooked out of her wits, doubles back towards the way we came - I catch her by the rucksack as three more stagger in.

Deciding that we don't need followers, with my machete drawn I engage the trio behind us. With a roll of my shoulders I hack open the neck of the nearest ghoul, causing it to let out a pained wail before crumpling to the ground. With a hack to their knees, they tumble uselessly towards the ground.

Occo proves to be a useful battering ram, using his mace to knock the heads clear off the five undead muttations as we push forward.

* * *

Out of the three of us, I expected _Valentina_ to kick the bucket with her absentmindedness and all. I suppose we could thank the rain and the introduction of the mutts for saving our behinds.

On the third of what seems to be five floors, we find what appears to be a meeting room of sorts. It was in better condition than the lower floors. I noticed there was less bullet holes and debris strewn around. It came with a five-window view, a fireplace fitted with kindling among other pieces of furniture - a good spot to hunker down of course. We left the cornucopia with a fair amount of loot. Sleeping bags for the three of us and various cans of food and jerky with the _pinnacle_ of all items being the wires Occo and Valentina had used to master their trap!

"What were those things just now?" Valentina asks aloud, sauntering past me as I go to work on a pack of jerky.

"They're the _undead_ , _duh_." I snort, grunting as I finally tear the package open. I sigh at the smell smoked groosling that wafts into the air. "It's just like the horror films, only this time _we're_ the poor saps being eaten alive."

Occo gets a fire going, prodding the embers with a fire iron. "It's more than just a fancy _prop, Cveta._ Did you _see_ the conditions downstairs?"

 _"So_ , what about it," I shrug, wincing as my voice comes off as a little _too_ standoffish. "The Gamemakers have had arenas like this before, throwing in props for show to further immerse the tributes and the people watching."

Valentina too seems to be thinking too hard, vigorously shaking her head. "If it were just a prop - the zombies and the wrecked army equipment - then why isn't the _entire_ mansion in poor shape?"

"It's almost as if something had happened _before_ the Gamemakers got to this place." adds Occo. "Like a city ruins arena or something . . ."

Again, I simply opt not to answer, digging back into my package of smoked meat as the flames envelop the room in a warm aura. Prop or actual historic significance, I don't really care. At the end of the day, the upper echelons get the deathmatch that they so crave and one of us - _preferably me_ \- will move on to win. As I check my communicuff, I nod at the _7:00PM_ that glows in a blue hue. We sit in silence, picking at our packages of food as the cannon fires out six times. Orville should still be out there somewhere. As much as I could care less, good on him for not being fodder.

Occo adjusts his eyeglasses, caressing the coil of wire in his hands.

"Do you have an idea on where to set it up?" asks Valentina.

He nods. "We _could_ set it up right here. I would need tools to make some headway though . . ."

As if our mentors were psychics, we all perk up from our weary state at the sound of chimes from our communicuffs.

" _Quick_ , open the window!" I say to Valentina, who instantly leaps from her spot and dashes toward the window. I could barely contain my excitement as three care packages lazily float through and gently land on top of a mahogany table. Soaked with downpour, two of them were as big as a jewelry box as the last was a footlocker of sorts. One of the smallest had a ' _6_ ' while the other two belonged to District 5. A sponsorship item this early in the games only solidifies the confidence I have in my current situation.

We don't have to be told to dig in as Occo lobs my package towards me. Tearing through the protective casing, I open the top cover to see a microchip and instructions to insert it into my communicuff. I quickly do so, plopping the chip into the back of the gauntlet as a loading screen appears and works its way to one-hundred percent. The 'home' screen becomes visible again, with a ' _Map_ ' and ' _Note_ ' application. Communicuffs in a Hunger Games setting is a welcomed trinket, as it showcases all the points of interest - excluding the location of the tributes themselves of course. I tap the ' _Note_ ' application, selecting the only one sent by Flo - our _Escort_ of all people. Who am I kidding? I wouldn't expect our mentors to be sober after constant bloodbaths. I would've given up hope too.

 _"Keep Calm and Carry On Child!"_

 _\- Flo._

"Woo hoo, _Eureka_!"

I glance up from my cuff to see Occo triumphantly hoisting a toolbox in his hands, as Valentina clutches her hands to her chest in bliss.

"We got a toolbox, now we're in business!" She croons as Occo sets the pan of tools down as he begins to pace the length of the room.

"This is good, amazing even!" he throws his hands up into the air as he doubles back to the box and begins to sift through the items gifted to them. "All I need is to get a ' _lay of the land_ ' so to speak, and then we can begin!"

 _Hmm. Don't you worry Flo . . . I'll be 'Carrying on' just fine._ This all seems to be falling into place a little _too_ easily. It's only a matter of time.

* * *

 ** _Luana Evison , 18, District 1_**

* * *

I _knew_ we should've just headed inside instead of chasing after Rafaela and her crew. But that kill though . . . That _kill_ made the chase worth the hassle. After _years_ of spearing targets, be it a gel torso or a pig carcass, the end result was so _clean._ Seven's death on the other hand was so . . . _epic._ The way my spear just _split_ his head apart was most definitely going to top the top ten charts for this year for sure. Hopefully, _I_ will be there beside Marceline to view it!

But first, we have a problem - or _problems_ to deal with.

Kite sweeps the legs of one undead soldier, its hands helplessly outstretched as he plunges his broadsword into its eye with a slight grunt.

"How are you doing over there, Luana!?" he says, turning to me before engaging the next undead that shambles toward him.

I let out a groan as I deliver a wide swing with my spear toward two undead. Their heads are tossed aside, as their stumps spew out blackened blood before crumpling to the grass.

"We should've just beat feet with everyone else!" I seethe, kicking out the shin of a ghoul before bisecting it in a spray of blood. "Who cares about _kill count_ s when we have bigger problems, such as undead flesh-eaters!"

He manages a nod in agreement before jabbing his sword into the neck of a undead missing an arm. We could thank _Aliyah_ for chasing after Rafaela and demanding that we follow after her. Due to our chase, we were blind to the masses of zombified soldiers marching our way while others made a clean getaway. It's probable that our adversaries are dealing with little to no muttations while Kite and I alongside the rest of our pack are slowly being corralled near the overturned hovercraft just a little ways south of the cornucopia.

Well, at least I _think_ we're near the horn. The rain alongside the fog that envelops the field is making visibility harder by the minute . . . not to mention its pushing 8 o'clock in the evening according to my communicuff - thank _Panem_ for daylight savings. Imagine being in _THIS_ arena at _THIS_ time in October. If we don't find a window of opportunity soon, we'll be dead, and then another lowly outlier district will take the crown _yet_ again because a bumbling _Two_ couldn't keep her ego down.

"This is probably more than enough action for the viewers, dontcha' _think_?!" He says, impaling another undead as it bleats out a pained howl.

An annoyed grunt rings out through the fog as an undead tumbles to the floor - a knife jabbed into its skull. Aliyah stomps through the haze, Merlyn silently watching her back as Vincent rushes past them and takes up a defensive position beside Kite. Kneeling down to rip the blade out of its head, she begins waving down Nicolao - who aides Skylar as she hobbles down the hill with a pack of undead on their tails.

"C'mon, c'mon, let's get a move on!" she barks, slashing the neck of another zombie and shoving it to the ground. "These _pusbags_ are getting on my nerves."

Nicolao lacerates the head off an undead with a swift flick of the wrist. "Let's get a move on _where_!?"

Aliyah's hands snake around the neck of a snapping zombie, an audible * _crack_ * is heard as she twists its head. "We're going to _push_ toward the mansion."

" _WHAT_?!" exclaims Vincent and Kite in astonished unison. Vincent shakes his head, bisecting an undead with ease. " _No, no no_. We can't push forward, because those _THINGS_ are blocking the way!"

As they continue to argue, my heart pounds wildly as more and more silhouettes bob through the fog like a District 4 wave. _Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear . . .!_

"Does _ANYONE_ have a _decent_ plan in mind?! "Asks Skylar as she slams her trident onto the head of an assailant.

With a glance toward an embattled Aliyah, who appears perplexed and annoyed as she tames the army of undead slinking towards us, I've decided to accentuate my leadership skills. This _isn't_ any generic arena and things _aren't_ going the way she expected it too. _Someone_ has to take up the mantle, even though my ideas are far from the greatest. At least I _have_ a plausible plan.

"Form up on me!" I cry, gently shoving Skylar and Nicolao back as I raise my spear in defensive position. "Keep it _tight,_ the hovercraft should give us enough solace to formulate a better strategy."

They don't have to be told twice, as my pack quickly pace backward. Aliyah sends a steel glance my way, but holds her mouth.

Forming a tight perimeter, we continue to slink backward as the mass of undead soldiers continue to skulk our way - encroaching us on all sides. Nicolao lets out a nervous grumble as the husks let out a cacophony of moans and growls - their mangled jaws gaping open and their milky-white skin gleams from the rain. Judging by the rusty rifles and full sets of skeletons I spy on the ground below me - not to mention those mockingjay armbands and District 13 emblems on the soldiers' wrists . . . This arena is _much_ more than a dog and pony show.

We quickly clamber on top of the overturned hovercraft, its belly big enough to give us enough leeway to take a breather from the undead onslaught. Aliyah manages to find a shotgun among the hovercrafts clutter of debris. She takes aim at an undead who attempts to scramble over, resulting in a loud * _Thump_ * as its head explodes in a pink mist. She pumps, aims and fires two more times – delivering the same devastating effect. On the forth shot the barrel of the gun _explodes_ , resembling something out of a cartoon with five umbrella-like tendrils splaying outward. It would be pretty funny if our skins weren't on the line.

Aliyah moves to fire again, unaware of the gun's defectiveness. Her brows quirk in confusion then defeat as she tosses the useless weapon over the edge.

"Great, now _what_?" Vincent deadpans, wobbling his head to rid himself of the excess droplets of rain. "We can't stay here forever!"

I scan the field around me, breathing a sigh of relief as the army of undead is not as unstoppable as they seem to be. They form a tight cluster around the downed hovercraft, their hands outstretched and jaws agape as their various moans and snarls ring out once more. I contemplate jumping where they concentrate less, but think against it as once I get my baring, I'll be an easy target. That's if even I manage to land without twisting an ankle.

Merlyn raises his communicuff to his ear. "You guys hearing what I'm hearing?"

Through the moans, the signature chime of a sponsorship package emits from our cuffs. Through the rain float multiple packages – one for the each of us. I frown when I download the microchip only to find out it was a map and a note from Glisten.

I can't help it but gasp when I see Aliyah squealing with joy, a pouch of grenades jostling in her hand. This is the first time in recent memory that I've seen grenades used in an arena before. In a Hunger Games like these, it's a welcomed sight for sure. That beaming smile of hers instantly melts into a mischievous grin as she pulls the pin, stuffing the primed grenade into the pouch as she stumbles towards the edge.

"You guys might wanna brace yourselves!" she chirps, prompting us to cower away as she lobs the pouch into the horde of undead.

In the corner of my vision comes a bright flash, followed by the brief sting of heat licking my face and the deathly howls of the undead as the pouch ignites in a roar of flame spouting outwards. The ring that was once a horde of zombified soldiers was now a disorganized mass as the ones still able to stand stumble around in confusion, while others lay battered on the floor or scattered dismantled pieces of flesh. Some patches of glass continue to burn, regardless of the light downpour that continues to fall. The explosive residue, the stench of the dead mixed in with the rain creates a repugnant smell.

It's better than the alternative, however.

"Gee, that's going in the top ten moments for sure!" cheers Skylar as the rest of the pack lets out a triumphant whoop.

"There, that's our window!" chimes Aliyah with glee, as she brandishes knives from her bandoleer. "Don't have a cow yet guys. Once we get rid of these stragglers, then we can move to the mansion and continue our hunt like discussed. _Got it_?"

Vincent and the rest of them nod eagerly, brandishing their weapons once more.

"Alright, let's do this!"

With joyful cries, the pack quickly leaps off the belly of the hovercraft - baring myself of course. I glare at the _'Pace yourself, Luana'_ from Glisten and the _'WAVE 1'_ that beams back at me from my cuff. Something tells me it's only going to get _worse. What can you do, right?_ It's the Hunger Games, the only thing I _can_ do is adapt and survive.

With a deep sigh, I too leap into the mass of undead, spear brandished.

* * *

 _ **Marcia "Cia" Mata, 13, District 11**_

* * *

Wow. _We actually survived . . ._

When the gong rang out and everyone leapt off their pedestals, Orville and I were practically halfway to the cornucopia before they even _reached_ the three pillars surrounding it! It's so rare for an ordinary tribute to get _that_ deep into the mouth get out without a knife in the back. I can't help but grin to myself as me and my pal Orville escaped the fray with two rucksacks _filled_ with goodies. If I didn't have Orville, I would be one of those six cannons for sure.

Our mentors must be _ecstatic_.

"Cia," calls Orville, his voice muted. "You okay?"

"Yea, I'm swell," I reply, avoiding a patch of glass on the floor. I check the clock on my communicuff. It's about quarter to nine. "Is your throat okay?" Aliyah from District 2 choked him somethin' fierce.

"No, not really . . ." I can hear the exhaustion in his voice. "It _stings."_

 _"_ I'm sorry Orville. Maybe when we settle down, we can take a look at it?"

I crane my head towards him as he nods. "OK, let's just keep walking until then."

"Okay."

Back to back, Orville and I carefully navigate the halls of this once extravagant home. Judging by the map Zinnia and Paisley sent me, there seems to be multiple parts to this place! A tribute would flip their lids trying to find the others in the maze that was this arena. Not to mention the wooded area surrounding it this venue seems to have zillions of little nooks and crannies in which people could hide, and this is only the second out of _five_ floors for this portion of the home.

It's evening now; the sky is now a light shade of purple. The occasional moan from those dead soldiers could still be heard in a distance. The wreckage that is this corridor on top of the encroaching darkness with the moans is enough to make _anyone_ jumpy. I mean, what _happened_ to this place? I can see bullet holes, dried blood and . . . _mockingjay_ flags draped on the walls among other weird things. What does _the mockingjay_ have to do with anything?

Just as we reach the stairwell to the upper floors, Orville grips me by the collar and drags me behind a pillar.

He plants a finger on my lip. " _Shh . . . Did you hear that_?"

Hear what? I didn't hear anything? Steadying my breathing, I try to keep as still as humanely possible, listening to the rushed padding of feet and a voice talking aloud.

"-rrick, I'll patch you up as soon as we find a place to hunker down." is what I got from the voice.

Orville, peering in the direction of the voice nudges his head toward the stairwell. " _Let's go higher_."

So we do, myself nodding along before quickly darting up the stairs as quietly as we could. Not before pocketing what appears to be an _audiocard_ for a communicuff on the table beside us.

We settle on the fifth and final floor, locating a kitchen of some sort. It had a perfect three-window view of the cornucopia and its surrounding field - currently occupied by the Careers who continue to do battle with those dead soldiers. There's a brief flash of light followed by a light * _boom_ * as an explosion rings out, followed by their faint cheers as Orville shuts the window.

"It's better them than us." Orville says, sighing as he lays his rucksack on the floor. "Let's take a look at our stuff we got. They always say that the deeper you go, the _better_ the stuff gets."

As me and Orville dig into our rucksacks, he has to cover my mouth to stifle the shrieks of joy that would probably alert everyone in a hundred mile radius!

"Shh, okay okay Marcia! Cool it already." chides Orville, failing to keep a straight face as he sifts through our loot.

Sleeping bags, mini Pepa-Cola cans, painkillers, gauze, water bottles and various other knickknacks were placed inside these gigantic knapsacks. The items that _REALLY_ got our attention were the ' _24 hour 3 in 1 Man Meal Combat Individual Ration'_ MRE packs! We pack these all the time back home for Peacekeepers and folks in need after hurricanes and tornadoes! We designed the packs to feed _three_ grown Peacekeepers for one whole day. That makes FIVE packets _each_ \- breakfast, lunch AND dinner for me and Orville to enjoy! On my recommendation, Orville chooses ham and gravy while I opt for the beef hash. To celebrate our brush with death, we munch on coconut fudge disks and applesauce while our meals warm up in a retort pouch.

"Hey Orville," I mumble, my mouth filled with fudge.

He raises his eyebrows, his mouth stuffed with applesauce. "Mmm?"

I present the audiocard. "I found this thingy on a table. It's like a holodisk. Maybe we could play it on a communicuff?"

After thinking for a minute he scoots closer to me - plopping the chip into the back of my gauntlet while adjusting the volume.

* * *

 **Tape title:** N/A  
 ** _User:_** Pte. Howard Neath  
 **Date:** 8/11/2143

 ** _Private Neath:_**

[*Audio feedback* *Sporadic gunfire* *Slight moans in background*] What are those things!? I-Is that . . . Major Evans?! Major Evans _DIED_ , I saw it myself!

 **Artificial Intelligence Systems:**

Resistance is futile. You're ALL going to die in here!

 ** _Lieutenant Powell:_**

STOW IT Soldier, ignore the holograms and continue breaking down that door damn it! Soldier Newman, Soldier Orson - you two form up on the main door and make sure those things don't break through. Keep those windows secure!

 ** _District 13 Soldier:_**

Umm . . . Ma'am, the casualties, th-they're getting up! Soldier Jessup, LOOK OUT!

 ** _Lieutenant Powell:_**

Oh my Gods . . . Take em down, take em down! [*Pained screams* *Sporadic gunfire* *Moaning becomes more prominent*]

 **Private Orson:**

[*Loud commotion* *Fervent gunfire*] LIEUTENANT, they're breaking through!

 ** _Private Neath:_**

[*Barging of a door*] I got it, I broke through!

 ** _Lieutenant Powell:_**

FALL BACK! Let's go, through the door, move it, move it!

[*The sound of gunfire is now drowned out with loud moaning and frantic, blood-curdling screams of pain*]

 *****END TRANSMISSION*****

* * *

Orville and I exchange a lengthy glance, both of us equally stunned at the recording we had overheard.

"What _were_ those things . . .?" murmurs Orville.

"What _are_ they and what happened here is a better question, I think." I reply.

Apparently out of thin air, a distinct and inquisitive tune plays throughout the room. I could hear the quivering of a violin and the light fluttering of a flute.

"I believe the proper word would be _Biohazards_ , right Vi?" chimes a refined Capitol accent.

"Yes yes - biohazards, bio-organic weapons, the undead . . . or simply stated, _zombies_. We never did have a specific moniker." replies an equally chipper feminine voice; both are akin to that of Orville or mine's.

Our heads dart towards the doorway, where our cryptic holographic friends - Vi and Pax, stand side by side with their iconic neutral expression. Clad in their school-like uniforms, the two children have been aiding - and sometimes screwing over - tributes for as long as Orville and I have been alive. Unspecific and detached from their tributes, their 'riddle-like' advice could mean the difference between the crown and . . . death.

"Origins dating back to the First Rebellion, Pax and I sought to develop a serum to reanimate the hearts of deceased Capitol soldiers in hopes to help turn the tide of the war."

"Fortunately, our serum did _just_ that!" chirps Pax with a quick snap of his finger.

" _Unfortunately_ , the serum came with undesirable effects. Further development of our serum allowed for its successful use against a rebel contingent on November eight, twenty-one forty-three." nods Vi.

Orville nods slowly in understanding. "Right, the _Second Rebellion_. So _that's_ why the arena looks how it does . . ."

"So, the _zombies_ that came through the mist were the rebels that fought here?" I ask.

The holograms nod in unison. "Precisely," says Vi.

"The rebels that fought here tried and _failed_ to survive."

"But will _you_ survive?"

"Only _one_ can survive, Pax."

"I suppose so, my friend. Both of them seem to be doing a bang up job, though!"

"For _now_. Unlike the year prior, engagements like these always seem to end in tears."

Their back and forth is drowned out by the opening of the national anthem. Orville and I quickly rush to the windowsill to see the blue-tinted national emblem materialize into view - like those nifty tile-matching games in the arcades back home. The first face is . . . _James_. I think Orville and I can both agree that if we dared leap out of our hiding spot there would've been _two_ more faces in the sky. The second is Evara from Three, Mentan from Nine - Their whole alliance. That's what happens when you pick a fight with the Careers.

I turn back towards the holograms, only to find them missing.

After Mentan comes _Cian._ Poor Cian, I didn't know him - with both of us coming from different cities and stuff, but he was kind enough to me when we _were_ together. I guess there's nothing I can do for him now though. After him comes Joelle, then at last Tamir - another tribute that picked a fight with the Career pack. The portraits are replaced with the seal as anthem continues to play, the emblem bursting into thousands of tiny pixels before concluding altogether.

Orville appears to be elated, letting out a deep sigh as he turns back to me. "Well, that's _one_ day down."

He appears shocked when I envelop him in a deep hug. He manages a slight chuckle as he returns me gesture with a pat on the back. Even though there is little to be celebrating, I'm elated that he and I actually made it through to see the second day. We have MRE's, soda pop and so much equipment we don't know what to do with. So I say let us celebrate the evening, even though our predicament was _far_ from over.

Orville and I? One. The world? Z _ero_.

* * *

 _ **Koller Ascort, 26, District 6**_  
 _ **Victor of the Eighty-Sixth Annual Hunger Games**_

* * *

" . . . And that's about It." drawls Captain Onassis, taking in another hearty drag from his cig. "It isn't a random occurrence you know. The Capitol on multiple occasions has used muttations in warfare, with the same _deadly_ results each time."

"How many rebels were killed there?" asks Glisten with a hand raised.

"Hmm, I'm not quite sure." Onassis turns to Gwendolyn. "Gwen, what do you know about the Invasion of District 11 _logistics_ wise?"

She holds up a finger while typing away at her Raspberry Pi. "Well, a-a-according to _P-P-Panempedia_ \- which I help curate - ov-over t-two thousand rebels are unac-c-counted for."

The lounge bursts into fervent murmurs as the navy captain rises out of his seat, his Lucky Drag hanging between his fingers. "Well folks, there you have it!" he breathes, a hand casually in his pockets as he saunters around the room with a suave swagger. "Our tributes are in an arena with a legion of undead Rebs . . . I suggest you plan accordingly!"

With that, the room snaps into action. That tribe-like dichotomy of 'Career versus Outlier' becomes evident as the likes of Zenobia, Berglind huddling with the rest of the Career mentors and escorts. The same could be said with the lower districts. Silvia and I, well , the both of us only just woke up to the news of our tributes surviving the bloodbath. After years of failure, letting the chips fall where they may was the best course of action. This year only seemed to empathize that - having a downtrodden thirteen year old paired up with a scarred delinquent and all.

As soon as we got the call from Flo, we both miraculously decided _against_ getting blitzed out of our minds. My body aches and my brain begs for me to pile up some more Z's . . . but the kids earned our attention, especially Mullen with all the apparent feats Flo alleges the half-pint accomplished.

Silva nods towards Piper and Quinton from District 5. "I dunno about you, but I'm gonna see what's going on with Cveta and her crew."

I nod. "No prob."

"Later Daddy-O." she trills, casting a lazy wave my way.

Flo spots me lazing near the doorway as she quickly zips towards me. "Ah, _there_ you are!" she breathes, heels clicking against the floor as she cups my cheeks. Her eyebrows quirk in confusion as she begins to caress them, a soft mew escapes from her lips.

"I see you cats ain't high?" she smirks, smoothing down my turtleneck. "The sober look is a _good_ one."

"I guess it feels _sorta_ good not to be fried out of my mind twenty-four seven." I shrug, a smile playing my lips. "I thought they'd be bloodbaths for sure. But if they survived this, then maybe the next couple days might be a little different too? I'm not holding my breath."

Flo frowns. "A little hope and determination wouldn't hurt."

"You heard the boy." I nod towards the flatscreen. "When you live in a city filled with generations of poverty and despair, there is _no_ hope."

She pats my cheek once more, tugging me towards the booth where Paisley and Zinnia are currently hunkered down. "The Elevens are already set up over here; they can give you the lowdown. Just you wait until you see what the children have from the cornucopia!"

Mullen scored loot from inside the horn? Maybe hope _isn't_ lost yet, as much as that nagging feeling inside continues to tell me so.

* * *

 _ **Note:**_

 _ **26th- James Pullo  
**_ _ **25th- Evara Winslett  
**_ _ **24th- Mentan Upton  
**_ _ **23rd- Cian Landon  
**_ _ **22nd- Joelle Castro  
**_ _ **21st- Tamir Acker**_

That's about it for day one/bloodbath. Of course, no hard feelings when it comes to killing off tributes. Its all about plots and where people fall in my grand scale of things - plot wise. I doubt any of those authors are still active on the website. Or a majority of you guys, seeing as I kinda had a hiatus for half a year. I have a group of passive readers and I thank you for that. I'm glad you find my stuff interesting. I don't really think I'll continue with the placement list . . . maybe!?

I plan to write again after considering some things such as structure, thinking things through and so on.

I believe I have my Victor. If I could tell you guys something, I've thought about multiple persons winning. When I mean multiple persons, I mean I've thought about many people winning by themselves and how their lives would play out once they got back. But you know, only one wins. I'll explain when we actually end this story.

In my little universe, this Games will end 'early' within a 'weeks' time . . . so what? Seven chapters, which are already planned out its just the task of writing and fixing it up a little bit.

Thanks for reading.


	25. Day Two

**_Haus Der Toten; The 95th Hunger Games_** ** _  
_** ** _Day Two_**

* * *

 **Pearlana Singh, 26** **  
** **Senior Gamemaker**

* * *

So far, the reception to this year's Hunger Games has been _spectacular_.

Apart from the rather tame opening bloodbath, preliminary reports show that this arena and all its strings have captivated the audience. Although it's too early to conclude, these Games are looking to top the previous four that came before it. With Hyperion gone and the arena under the direction of Gideon, more . . . ' _ideal_ ' Victors can be attained. Yes, Ainsley Tisdayle of District 12 was as crafty as Joyceta Rodriguez and Francisco Noriega of Isla Nieve were strong-willed, but it's debatable to say they fit the mold of a Victor - strong, confident, and _bloodthirsty_.

Then again, we Capitols can be a little . . . ' _overzealous_ ' when it comes to imagery!

I continue to sip away at some French Vanilla instant as my colleagues trickle in from their five hour breaks. _Thank Snow_ for the likes of Vi and Pax. I swear within a couple years' time, Gamemakers will be _obsolete_ due the holographic duo's versatility.

"Top o'the morning, Pearl."

I turn to see Gideon, mug in hand, as he steps onto the command turret and swivels in his chair.

I offer a bright smile in return. "Good morning, Gideon."

He wags a finger my way. "From what I remember, I sent you away on break a couple hours back. You did go, _right_?"

" _Yes yes_ ," I reply, dismissing him with a friendly wave of the hand as I take another sip from my mug. "I just thought that you could use the extra hand, so I came a little bit early."

" _Alright_ , as long as you can tolerate being active." he says, as the turret rises into the air with a soft hiss. "I hate seeing a woman in your condition doing all the work you do, but if you _insist_."

My hand instinctively darts toward my stomach as I offer him polite thanks for his concern. I turn to my chair, stopping as I pivot back to the turret in which the Acting Head Gamemaker resides.

"Say, you're the president's right hand man, what do the other departments think about this whole arena idea? You think I'd know, but that stuff seems to be above my pay grade."

He shoots a spry grin my way. "The Ministry of Health objected to this idea at first . . . you know, with the whole use of bio-hazardous material in such an important District such as Eleven. Then you have the issue of tributes coming in _contact_ with the infected. If tributes were to die and we bury them, they claim it would be a _'risk to the other interments'._ "

I roll my eyes. Some people have been watching _too many_ motion pictures. On the other hand that's _quite_ the amusing image - formerly deceased persons rising out of their graves once more to feed on the living!

"That's why we gave them an anti-virus, correct?"

" _Exactly_." answers Gideon. "In an attempt to prevent the spread of the virus to the already interred _and_ to dilute the manifestation of the virus itself . . . We at least want their parents to have the option of an open casket without them looking like a biohazard _themselves_."

That sounds about right. In the event they want to view their fallen one last time, we could at least grant them a pretty face.

"So," I say, gesturing to all the Gamemakers currently assembled. "Day two is upon us. What do we have planned for today?"

"Well," the older man begins, "As of twelve o'clock our time, we'll be forwarding all primary arena functions to Vi and Pax until a Victor is named. All other functions, including maintenance and sponsor packaging, will be regulated by us." He clears his throat, leaning into a microphone. "Vi, Pax?" he calls, smiling as the two holographic children faze into view before us.

"Good Morning, Mr. Montresor!" they chime in unison.

"Good Morning Doctors. Please continue dropping tidbits about our arena and its contents to our tributes." Gideon nods as the two holograms bow and curtsy before dissipating.

"Melchior, please aid Vi and Pax in enabling ' _WAVE 2'_ of the bio-hazards. I'm going to have the children deploy the second wave of biohazards by having them come through from the north and south - let some of the outliers get their hands dirty."

Melchior nods with gusto. "Of course Mr. Montresor, Yvette, the team and I will get _right on it_."

"Good. Vontavius, I enjoyed your ambient music, as did many spectators. Please, keep it up as the day goes. "

Vontavius shoots a mock salute his way. After issuing various commands to different departments and adjusting his browline glasses, Gideon turns to me.

"Pearlana,"

"Yes Gideon?"

"Unlike a certain _recently deceased_ Head Gamemaker, I liked your most recent proposal. Prepare to deploy them soon."

I flash him a smile. I'm starting to like the old man already. "Of course Mr. Montresor, I'll have them prepped and ready to deploy for Vi and Pax by mid-day."

* * *

 ** _Tybalt Moranthyfis, 16, District 10_**

* * *

I guess our little plan was easier _said than done_.

Held up in a nifty looking apartment-like room, I tend to Herrick's neck wound. He's damn lucky Nine's knife didn't slit his jugular or something. _Snow,_ I'm surprised he's still among the living with such a close call like that. I'm surprised that _I_ managed to escape. All things considering, that bloodbath was a _disaster_ on my end. What was supposed to be a show of competence turned into our asses getting _handed_ to us, Cian getting killed and barely any supplies between the two of us.

It was supposed to be a walk in the park. The arena sure looked that way - a generic forest with a mansion of sorts. The rain, fog and those gosh damn _zombies_ had to _ruin_ what was a decently thought out strategy.

What a _convoluted_ concept from such a _convoluted_ class of people. Like seriously, _the walkin' dead_?

"Thanks Tybalt," groans Herrick, hissing as he rotates his right collarbone where Adele's knife struck. "What about you though, Aliyah wailed on you pretty hard."

I glance at my own wound - a circular stab wound from D-2's knife after she slammed me to the floor. Thankfully the remainder of the cream and gauze offered me some escape from the pain. I wince as I gently tap the material, causing a slight bout of pain that flares up in waves before coming dormant again.

I cast my glance towards the floor. " . . . I'll live I guess."

"Speaking of living," he replies, grimacing somewhat. "I'm still kinda baffled both of our partners didn't make it. Evara and . . . _Joelle_ was it?"

Not caring much, I offer him a slight shrug. Evara and her group were foolish enough to fall for the trap Careers tend to lay every year - too much exposure almost always paints an enormous target on your back. Joelle was weak, but still, better for her end to have happened _now_ rather than later when the Games truly heat up. I had her brother in history class, they seemed like good folk. Maybe when _I_ win I'll send some of my wages their way.

"Better them than us. It was bound to have happened anyway." I affirm, adjusting myself on the couch.

"At least now our mentors can focus their efforts on us alone."

Herrick nods, albeit uneasily as we fall into a deep silence. While digging into a can of fruit, I watch from the corner of my eye as he raises a finger in euphoria. Taking our packs, he empties them - watching as its contents splay across the old coffee table. What was he trying to prove? I'm not quite sure, but I'll humor him regardless.

" . . . Let's see here," he hums, rifling through our items. "We got two cans of beans, a liter of water between the both of us, _minimal_ gauze . . . a short-sword for me, a serrated one for you and that's about it. That seems good enough.

I scoff, mustering enough control not to flip the table entirely. " _'Good enough'_ \- _two cans_ of _beans_ are _good enough_ for you!?"

He seems to disagree, shrugging with a mix of anger and frustration as I continue my glare towards him. "I'd think they are? I'd rather _some_ items than _none_ at all - or would you _rather_ be one of the six faces in the sky?!"

I roll my eyes, another scoff escaping my lips. Why is it that I'm _always_ surrounded by people who always settle for the _bare minimum_?

"Listen my friend," I drawl as kindly as I can muster, jutting my fork toward him. "There's more to this than the feeling of ' _safety_ '. What image does this show to potential sponsors, two grown boys cowerin' in some room like _tweenagers_ as we lick our wounds and clutch our _beans_ for dear life?"

I allow my trademark smirk to play on my lips as my ally casts a glance at the can of beans currently in his hand. "A typical run-of-the-mill tribute _can't_ settle for less," I continue, "None of the big names made it out of this arena alive by settling for less. _Phox Yule, Goldie Locksley, Gloss Ritchson,_ so on and so forth."

Herrick gives his head a shake. "Overt force doesn't get you anywhere. Like _everrryone_ says, all you need to do is look back to the Victors that came before us. _Gwen Faraday, Zinnia Parsons,_ all of D-6' Victors . . . I could care less about playing for ' _glory'_. I just wanna get out of here, like everyone else."

A sigh escapes my lips. _Calm yourself Tybalt- you're coming on a little too strong. A little 'visual persuasion' would go a long way._ Wordlessly, I stride toward the window and motion for him to follow. I jut a finger towards the window - pointing towards the war-torn fields, cornucopia and cluster of walkin' dead shambling towards the estate.

"Herrick, _'playin' it safe'_ _won't_ save us this year." I hiss, leaning in towards him. "Just look at the theme they're going for. No useless tribute without a little . . . ' _chutzpah'_ will be coming out on top. They've had five of them in a row."

Listening, he regards me with a hearty glance. I can tell by the resignation on his features that he knows I'm right. Things are only about to get worse. If we put in a little work like we agreed on, we'll be set for the potential storm.

"Alright," he sighs, adjusting his windbreaker. "What do you suggest we do?"

That smirk I adore so well creeps onto my lips once more, as I level my serrated sword toward him.

"It's about time we started going on the _offence_."

* * *

 ** _Lumina Reiss, 17, District 12_**

* * *

My arrow pierces the chest of the undead soldier as it crumples to the ground with a pained wail. Jai moves to stab it three times before it stops withering altogether. With a labored grunt, he hands me my arrow -a wry grin on his face as he twiddles the bolt between his fingers.

"Here ya go, Townie."

I waste no time in playfully snatching it back, loading it into my bow. "Thanks-a-bunch, Seam rat."

So far, we seem to be doing pretty well for ourselves. Unlike the children that came before us, I can't help but feel 'lucky' to have made it past the initial bloodbath. Even now as I creep around the ruined hallways of this abode, Mother and Father must be worried _sick_. I try to pay them no mind, as we cast a glance at our communicuffs as a rather peculiar and eerie tune emits from them. The ' _WAVE 1_ ' on the bottom-left corner of the screen is replaced with a ' _WAVE 2_ ', as another round of moans ring out throughout the arena.

"Wave two, what's a _wave two_?"

"You know the Underwood family - the general store owners?" I ask as he nods vigorously. "Well, Adam has a _Game Block._ When he played a game on it and beat a 'level', the level would go up a number."

Jai continued to bob his head in typical 'Jai' fashion, while regarding me with a incredulous eye. " _So_ . . .?"

I clutch his arm, pointing towards the trio of zombies that stagger to and fro down the hall before hastily tugging him towards the nearest door.

" _So_ \- things are only going to get even _more_ _difficult_ as the days go by."

Our boots clicking rapidly against the tiles, I quickly swing the door open and fling my partner inside- only for him to gag and reel backward. Only as I force him back inside with myself in tow - do I realize _why_ he retched the way he did. In this meeting room, situated around a gargantuan circular oak table, were multiple decomposed bodies. Baring the uniforms of rebels and D-13 uniforms - some remained slumped against the table while others could be found laid out on the floor. One could only imagine having a body or _bodies_ locked up in a room without the elements of the outdoors to claim them smelled like.

The stench was _beyond_ description, I don't _believe_ there are _any_ words to describe it.

"What in . . . _Snow's name_ happened in _here_?" I gasp, fanning my nose and bouncing in place. " _Blech,_ ugh . . . _oh my-_ "

I stumble towards a corner, my hands clutched around my stomach as I prepare to dry heave its contents. Before I could _'toss my cookies'_ , Jai tugs me upward - plastering a salve under my nose while caressing my back.

"It's happened in the Seam many times." he says gruffly. "Sickness, starvation . . . the PK's had to wear hazmat suits just to get _inside_ and take them out. When it came to folks like me, we used vaporrub."

I muster a thank you as the dry-heaves subside and the putrid scent is replaced with a minty one. I've never _dared_ enter that part of town, on warning from Mother for me to stay away. I suppose she was right in that regard. From what I remember, no one necessarily _died_ of starvation. From the grumbles of Father's workers in his many factories, they only had the minimum to get by. The more Jai and I talk, the less . . . _'stuck up'_ I become.

While I regain my bearings, something catches Jai's eye as he makes his way toward the table. He reaches out in front of a decomposed skeleton to retrieve what appears to be an audiodisk.

"Take a gander at this thing," he says, tossing it to me before blowing off the excess dust. "Looks like one of them chips Francine and Ainsley sponsored us. Plop it in, let's see what's on it."

I shrug, inserting it into the back of my communicuff as I wait for the chip to download. "If you insist . . ."

* * *

 **Tape title:** "A Toast"  
 ** _User:_** Sgt Merlin Bellrock  
 **Date:** 9/11/2143

 **Private Calhoun:** Sergeant, those moans . . . they're only getting closer and closer. The comms are dead silent, I think we're the only ones left . . .

 **Private Tarson:** I haven't heard any shooting for the past hour . . . My gods, we're _really_ gonna die in here are we . . .!?

 ** _[*Fervent murmurs of agreement, slight sobbing*]_**

 **Corporal Lipp:** So that's it then, we're just gonna cower in here like _children_!?

 **Sergeant Bellrock:** . . . If you wanna go out that door into the unknown, then please, be my guest. If you make it past those _things,_ then you'll have the Capitol to contend with. If they could make the dead _walk_ , imagine what they'll do to a _POW_. Do you still want to go out guns blazing?

 ** _[*Silence*]_**

Good, because I have an alternative that would be fitting given the ' _circumstances_ ' brought upon us.

As a combat medic, I am entrusted with copious amounts of nightlock to euthanize troops beyond the point of return. In your canteens, I squeezed the juices of said berries into your water. If you ingest the toxins by water it will guarantee quicker expiry. If you believe you have a chance against those freaks of nature - Private Jobin will see you out. If not, you may claim your canteens.

 ** _[*Silence, followed by rusting*]_**

No one then? Very well.

Soldiers, it has been a pleasure to have fought by your side for a free and just Panem. Before we drink, allow me to offer up a toast. I toast to the mockingjay and those who continue to fight under her banner. I hope that our predicament was but a rare case, and that the fight for liberty and justice for all continues on.

 **The Platoon:** To the mockingjay!

***END TRANSMISSION***

* * *

Even now, as I gaze at the rusted canteens and tattered uniforms do I realize the _cruelty_ of it all.

Surely some of these men and women had families, District 12 houses _thousands_ of District 13 citizens. What do the viewers think - if they even thought _at all_ due to possible Gamemaker censorship? I can't imagine anything positive coming of it. Private Lipp, _Lipp_ . . . did she belong to the Lipps in town? They serve as the district haberdashers. The missus - Eden seems like a charm to be around. However, the mister was always a broody type, especially when it came to holidays pertaining to the Capitol's triumph against the Rebels. Didn't the Lipp family _come_ from District 13?

I'm brought back to earth by a firm grasp on the shoulder by Jai. In his free hand he clutches an old rifle, an imposing bayonet attached to the lug.

"I think it's time we leave, Townie." he nods sternly, the rifle gripped firmly in his hands.

...

Instead of roaming the hallways, we opt to crack open a window and take our chances on the roof and its slippery shingles from yesterday's downpour.

It turns out this estate is _much_ bigger than what the front facade has to show. Where Jai and I stand, there appears to be multiple wings of the mansion. According to the map on my communicuff, we appear to be standing over a large square yard surrounded on all sides by a two-story walkway deemed _'The Plaza'_. Though barricaded and wired from the battle decades prior, the defenses can be torn down by those . . . _zombies_ quite easily. In this gigantic plaza are a dozen square planters and a central statue offering _some_ interior cover and block sight between the four main entrances - which happen to be iron gates. The area looks like the ideal location in which a _possible_ feast could be held.

If one were to be called, me and my friend here could be in a _prime_ spot. It looks like Ainsely's advice _worked_ after all. I suppose all the pills and talking to figments of her imagination passed for just a brief moment enough to give us something _useful._

"You know Townie; you're doing quite well for a gal of your stature." Jai muses as we make our way from the shingles to the upper-walkway. In a bout of confusion and irritation, I turn around - nearly slipping off the edge.

"My _stature_ , what do you mean by _'my stature?'_ "

In the face of my frown he retorts with a cocky smirk. "For a townie, I'm surprised you didn't die in the bloodbath and held your own. Y'know, town folk aren't built for strenuous work - especially the daughter of one of the richest men in our district, just sayin'."

You know, I've always _despised_ that stereotype leveled against me - that _'sheltered rich girl'_ label and all its attributes. Throughout my almost twenty years of living, I was constantly taught to keep a stiff-upper lip. As I assume throughout the country, one's status - especially that of a family, means _everything._ Now imagine being a _woman_ in such a coveted family such as mine. Being continuously told to be careful how I portrayed myself has led me to have a very . . . _'conscientious'_ nature.

Being in the Hunger Games allows me to be . . . well, ' _me_ ' so to speak. My current predicament serves as a blessing and a curse for obvious reasons.

"As you can imagine, being the child of weapon designers in _District Twelve_ of all places - there's not much room for leeway in terms of _'self-expression'_."

"Now that you're here, whaddya have to lose, right?" Jai says, smiling all the while.

I return his gesture with a sad smile. Let's see . . . we have _my status, the loving embrace of my Mother and Father, my friends Cordin, Leonardo and Hedy . . ._

" _A lot_ , unfortunately."

"Well," he returns, clasping my hand in his as he helps me onto the walkway. "If it means anything, I enjoy _this_ Lumina more than the princess I knew back in Twelve."

I suppose I better relate the rumble and tumble of the middle class even more with Jai by my side. Just two weeks prior, I wouldn't know the first thing to say. I suppose the Hunger Games has a way of bringing out the best (or the worst) in an individual. It's always been a wonder to look at all the tributes and see how they grow or fall during the pockets of peace before the storm. I wonder where I would be without Jai as a companion.

I grip his hand, my weak smile replaced with a stronger one as I lightly bow my head.

 _"Thank you,_ Jai." I say, "Now let's proceed down this walkway, maybe now that we're up here - this ' _WAVE 2_ ' can be better dealt with."

Although as we proceed down the walkway, I can't help but continue glancing at the imposing wave of fog fast approaching the estate. Jai appears to have noticed as well, his bayonet is at the ready as my crossbow is leveled to my chest.

* * *

 ** _Adele Havillard, 16, District 8_**

* * *

Something tells me things are only going to get _more_ difficult as the days go by.

Rianne and I saunter through the forest east of the cornucopia with no clear destination in mind. We pick off a couple of straggling undead with ease, however. As soon as the sky began to lighten up a bit, Rianne insisted that we explore the surrounding area no matter how much I protested.

"Usually, Gamemakers aren't so lenient on idle players." she said while trudging her way through the light fog.

I retorted by bringing up the fact that we're only on day _two_ , only for her to bring up the ghouls. Imagining the Gamemakers unleashing an army of undead muttations on us, I didn't offer a retort after that. If I plan on getting back home, then I better get used to moving around.

Speaking of ' _home_ ' . . .

"How are you feeling otherwise?"

I raise my eyes from off the ground to meet her grey ones. "I'm sorry?"

"Like you said," Rianne continued, her hands jutting into the air. "We've made it another day. How are you feeling?"

"Well, unless you're a _Career_ I doubt any of us are feeling ' _peachy_ ' about spending yet another day in this place." I mumble, kicking away a fist-sized rock. "I miss _home_."

Having such a pleasant upbringing, I can't help but feel _petrified_ at the likelihood of _never_ seeing my friends and family again - having _everything_ ripped away because of something our ancestors did a _century_ ago. Rianne encourages me to speak about home, which I do.

I talk about my boyfriend Trystian. He was so _kind_ and responsible.

We were each other's first in terms of you know . . . having someone that you _really_ , _really_ liked before. _Who knows - m_ aybe we would've been wed once we both turned eighteen and beyond reaping age like most young people did? From Trystain I went on to reminisce about Mom and Dad and our 'flower shop' which is actually an _apothecary-slash-urban garden._

And to _think_ I was actually going to end up running that apothecary someday - I guess not _anymore_.

"Will this year be an _outlier_ one?" I ask aloud, my eyes trained on the sky for nothing in particular before focusing on Rianne. She offers a shrug as she continues to sift through the debris. The fog seems to be getting _thicker,_ but I pay it no mind.

"Try to relax as best you can. All we have to do is look at those who came before us. They weren't axe-lugging Careers and look where they ended up?"

Rianne was _right_ , who else to draw inspiration from than the likes of Malachi or Ainsley of District 12? Then again, at least the Careers had _experience_ with killing and were most likely desensitized to violence - the perfect remedy to such a _grotesque_ arena like this.

Our little trek through the fog-stricken woods appears to have paid off - as we reach what appears to be an old highway and open field. Just like the cornucopia, it seems to be ravaged with the _scars_ of war. As I glance around at the shells of military trucks, pieces of skeletons and not to mention the mutts - it makes me wonder. . .

A sharp gasp from Rianne is enough to bring me back down to earth. "Psst, Adele, come get a peek at this!"

I jog over to the field where she stood. "What, what's wrong?"

She juts a finger downward, while holding up a tattered _mockingjay armband._ " . . . Something tells me this arena isn't based on fiction."

As I follow her finger, my eyes land on a mass grave of _charred bones_ strewn about in a rather large crater. Mixed in with the fragments are pieces of fabric and plenty of moss caked in. Seeing the horrendous sight reminds me of school. Back in school, our history teacher would take us on a field trip to view the location in which the Rebel troops fighting in District 11 surrendered in District 8 after its ' _pacification'_. The fields and the highway looked _very much_ like this.

Which means _home_ isn't very far away.

We find ourselves frazzled by a menacing series of wolf-like howls that echo throughout the arena. As I quickly find myself clambering onto a tank and gluing myself to Rianne's side, the fog that once inhabited the forest now finds itself enveloped around us like a smothering blanket.

 ** _"Go on my lovelieees,"_** coos a child's voice much like the holograms, warped and deranged while maintaining their supposed innocence. **_"SIC 'EM!"_**

Rianne frowns. " _Oh boy_ . . ."

With my knife drawn and the sound of metal unsheathing as Rianne readies her sickle, we wait. With our sight impaired by the mist, all that could be heard was the padding of feet, or was it _paws?_

In front of us explodes a plume of fire, and out of that fire appears a _dog_. This dog isn't any ordinary one - with one of its eyes an unnatural off-white as it bulges out of its socket. Just like the undead rebels, they also appear so - resulting in exposed muscles, tendons, and even bones as well as a significantly decomposed face.

The dog rushes, baring its fangs as it lunges into the air towards Rianne. She doesn't hesitate, grunting as she geared up her stance and swung with all her might. The hound could barely make a pained yelp as it's separated from the mouth sideways in a spray of blood. One decides to pounce my way, albeit too high as I counter with three stabs to the stomach - prompting the dog to crash onto the ground in a bloody heap. Three more hounds explode into view, hair raised and fangs bared while Rianne staves them away with a couple swings from her sickle.

I move to assist - only to feel a sharp twinge in my ankle.

I could only wail in agony as the hound unclasps then doubles down again - latching its fangs into my leg as I sink to my knee. I plunge my knife into the base of its skull once, two times as it slumps downward. I barely have time to react as another hound pounces onto me - knocking me off the tank and onto the concrete road. Clasping its jaw shut, my hands scramble blindly around the ground in search of my knife, but to no avail as the hound breaks free of my grasp and sinks its fangs into my neck. As I scream out in blinding torment, I feel the gushing of blood from out my mouth instead of my voice. I _try and try_ to escape from the hound's vice-like grip, only for the mutt to sink its teeth _deeper_.

Rianne's sickle splitting the dog in two was a welcoming sight. My hands instantly shoot up to my neck, my very being sinks as they're greeted with wetness. The air smells of copper for some reason...

" _Adele!"_ she wails, dropping down to my battered form. She places a finger to my lip as she secures my arm around her shoulder. "You don't talk, try to relax while I get us out of here, okay?!"

I nod, grunting as she tugs me on my feet and proceeds to drag me back toward the tree line.

More difficult it _did._

* * *

 ** _Valentina Noether, 15, District 5_**

* * *

"I'm not quite sure how much longer I can keep this up!" yelps Cveta as we leap onto a dining room table.

"Occo said to give him time!" I grunt as I swing my chair towards a flinching trio of mutts. " _Errm, nice doggies_!"

We'd been prepping our electric tripwire when the fog seeped in from outta _nowhere_. He'd taken refuge in a closet while we drew the attacking mutts away, telling us to stall the things long enough so that we could _test_ our invention after he made some final tweaks. Since then Cveta and I continue to stave away packs of ravenous . . . ' _hellhounds'_. They sure look that way with their deformed appearance, split jaws and the trail of fire they leave as they gallop around the table – looking for open spots to attack from. We've been warding these mutts off for at least half an hour! The smoke emitting from our canine friends reminds me of burning sulfur from District Five's factories.

"Back off fido, I'm _NOT_ on the menu!" grunts Cveta, using her boot to kick back a mutt who climbed up too far.

Dogs in District 5 were _always_ nice . . . I would always feed them and show them my flashy ring. How come these little guys aren't? How could the Gamemakers be _so cruel!_? One decides to try its luck, lunging at me with its fangs bared. The dumb mutt earns a chair to the head as a gift. I end the poor dogs life as I bring the chair down once more with a sickening * _splat_ *.

 _Bad dog!_

No matter how many we beat, _two more_ would take their place – constantly clawing at the table as they bark all the while. My feet teeter back and forth, flinching back at each paw and fang that swipes and bites my way. Cveta lets out an angered growl, her hands clutching a nearby curtain. With a grunt she gives the fabric one last tug, clasping the iron rod in her hand as she sifts through her pockets.

Another swing from my chair causes a mutt to collide into a painting with a pained yelp. "What are you trying to do?"

With a deranged grin on her face and a lighter in one hand, she casts the curtain alight. With a twirl, Cveta swings the burning fabric towards the hounds as they recoil in fear – hissing as she leaps from the table, motioning for me to follow her lead.

"Yep, that's right you _stupid_ mutts," she seethes, jabbing the rod towards the pack of hounds as they recoil once more. "You stay back if you know what's good for you!"

And stayed back they did - until Cveta and I slowly started to slink toward the exit. With each step backward, the dogs would continue to encroach - no longer afraid of Cveta's fire. I can't help but let out a squeal as their jaws split apart into four jagged tendrils of flesh and teeth.

Sparing only a single glance toward one another - the word ' _run_ ' doesn't need to be said as we book it out of that dining room as fast as we can.

With my heart pumping like a locomotive and my mouth tasting of iron, Cveta and I round a corner as a mutt collides against a table before joining the pack again. I feel my boot shatter a discarded piece of glass, yet I don't hear it shiver due to the constant scampering, jingling of collars and the chorus of angry barks that emitted from our friends behind us.

Just up the hall, Occo's face peers from out from a doorway, his features frantic as he rapidly beckons toward us.

"It's ready, bring 'em this way!"

With the sense of elation washing over me, I grip Cveta's hand as we renew our strength and powered forward. A mutt takes its chances and attempts to pounce on us - prompting the two of us to duck as it tumbles to the floor. We pay no mind as the hound is trampled under our feet, ignoring the sharp wail and crunches that come from it.

We round the doorway into the room we've called home for the past day, leaping over the patch of insulators and crashing into the back wall - _waiting with fervent breaths._ Occo, his form trembling, clutches a power switch in his hands – his thumb hovering over the trigger as his eyes remained glued on the entrance in front of us.

The barking and jingling of collars comes ever so closer until one lone mutt makes their way into the room – leering at us from the entrance.

"Occo . . .?"

"Yes?"

Cveta jabs her elbow into the side of Occo, her expression urgent. "Press the button _Occo_ . . ."

Occo remains fixated on the entranceway. "Just a moment, _please_."

With its snout raised into the air and its head rotating like a hand on a clock, the mutt lets out a resounding howl as the rest of its pack gallops into the room – their jaws split open as they power towards us.

"Occo, press it now!"

Just as the pack of muttations prepares to leap over the insulator, Occo slams his fist against the button. The room glows alight with blue as the electrical current from the insulators wash over the dogs. Their yelps of pain turn into full blown shrieks as their bodies dance with the current. Just like with our display to the Gamemakers, the room explodes in a heap of smoke – the smell of flesh and sulfur heavy in the air.

As the smoke and fog clears, the dogs are _nowhere_ to be seen.

Occo adjusts his glasses, as we inch our way up against the wall. "It _worked, again."_

Cveta lets out a cackle. "How'd you do it?"

I let out a cough, overwhelmed by the stench the dogs created. "Using the panels Vi and Pax use to _'project'_ themselves, we used the electrify from that and concentrated it with those fuses to make a _'wall of electricity'."_

 _Occo raises a tentative finger._ "We'll need something to make it more . . . _thorough."_ He rubs his chin. "Water would be our best bet."

I raise my hand. "I'll get some, _tomorrow_. According to my communicuff, there's a pond east of here."

We each give a nod of agreement. There we have it, our trap _works._ All we need are some _tributes_ to test it on, then we can truly move forward.

* * *

 ** _Orville Mullen, 13, District 6_**

* * *

This seems to be the _last_ of them.

I wince as I plunge my dagger into the eye of yet another muttation. As I twist the blade deeper, the dog stills then slumps to the floor - lifeless as I kick it aside. Marcia seems to be wrapping up as well, fending off an attacking mutt by jutting her spear towards it. She slashes the tip across its cheek, sending a boot into its muzzle as it bleats out a yelp of pain. We both descend on the dog now, enclosing the poor thing while it limps into a corner - _helpless_.

"Just a second ago, it was all _bloodthirsty_ and stuff . . . now this?" Cia gestures to the hounds defeated form. "Should we just leave it be?"

As we stare into the eyes of the dog who continues to whimper with its head inclined, my feeling towards the thing hasn't changed from the other dogs that almost tried to maul us to death. In District 6, there are plenty of feral dogs running around, as I would imagine in any other city in Panem. Maybe it was corralled and experimented on for this very purpose. Like Cia and I, he probably didn't have much choice on the position he's currently in. He was simply in the _wrong place at the wrong time._

My boot raised - I proceed to send my foot down on the mutts head. The first stomp came with a sickening crunch as the dog let out one final cry of anguish. The second and the third came with a wet squelch.

As I raise my boot for the fourth time, Marcia placed a hand on my chest. " _Look_ the fog . . . It's _disappearing_."

She was _right._ As if on command, the fog that accompanied the muttations continued to seep away through the windows and nearby vents - with an ominous tune replacing it. As we glance down at my communicuff, the _'WAVE 2'_ was now replaced with a _'WAVE 3'._

Exchanging glances, I nod towards the stairwell. " . . . Let's say we head back to the kitchen."

...

After leveling an old fridge against the base of the kitchen door I slump against the cabinet with a haggard groan, my hands rubbing the length my somewhat sore neck. It feels slightly better now since Marcia gave me her aching cream from her rucksack. If we had it any other way, like her listening to me and fleeing toward the woods, _who knows_ where we would've ended up? Casting a glance at my jovial ally now, I watch as she digs into a can of stew - her hair now in a messy brown bun. She looks up from her meal, a smile etched on her lips as she digs back in.

It's almost too good to be true, being among the living that is. If history hasn't shown us, District 6 isn't all that great in the tribute department. Outcasts and vagabonds almost always seem to be over-represented within our pool. With all this luck, everyone back home should still have an eye on Cveta and me - especially _Mom_. Mom, Mom, Mom . . . without me, I wonder what'll come of her? With morphling on the brain, I'd only imagine that would be her only care in the world – _Snow_ , it probably _already was._

If I were to go, I can only imagine her following my lead shortly after.

"Psst, _hey Orville, check these out!"_

Marcia's foot playfully jostles mine as she parades a brown package across my vision. Tearing it open, she presents a white carton with a red top – her lips twisted in an impish grin.

The package she proudly presents seems to be that of cigarettes _– not just any cigarettes._ They're _Lucky Drags- Panem's Favourite Cigarette!_ You'd think that they would take out cigarettes from those meal rations but I guess not. The package reminds me of those candy cigarettes I would buy at the factory cafeteria for eighty-five cents a pop when I had a break. _"Candy Cigarettes – Just Like Dad!"_

"Look . . . a pack of _Luckies!"_ she gushes, tearing open the package. "At least if the worst happens, smoking would've been _one thing_ I got to experience in my thirteen years of life." she giggles – somewhat sadly.

"You're _actually_ going to?" I say, returning the smile she sends my way.

She shrugs, striking a match. "Why not, _everyone_ does it? Not to mention our current situation . . ."

With the match lit she brushes it against the end cigarette, causing the tip to glow in a bright orange hue. She takes a hearty inhale – holds – then exhales a plume of smoke through the small ' _o'_ of her lips. She mews out a slight _hmph_ then bursts out with a giggle mixed with a slight cough.

"Not bad I guess . . ." she extends her hand toward me – the cigarette in tow. " _You wanna try_?"

I glance around for the cameras I _know_ are there. "What about your _parents?_ "

Another shrug paired with a giggle. "Like I said, _you only live once_. _Sorry Mom and Dad_!" she whispers, waggling the cigarette towards me.

I find myself caressing my chin. _Everyone_ from students, Ms. Buick in the teachers' lounge at school, various Victors on billboards to the factory workers on break smoked cigarettes. Might as well see what all the hubbub is about? So I do, taking the cigarette from her fingers and plopping it in my mouth – inhaling its contents.

The feeling is _delightful_ , in my opinion, and it's like having your lungs wrapped in a warm, minty blanket. Then again, when I think back to the likes of my Mother and her daily battles with vices such as these - I quit while I'm ahead.

Cia nods toward the gigantic fridge door behind us. "You wanna see what's inside that fridge? We've been here almost three days; we might as well be acquainted with all our surroundings?"

I wobble my head, standing back up as we walk toward the fridge. "Why not, although I blame _you_ if this place starts to stink."

"I'd imagine that freezer must have one _helluva_ stench." She agrees.

With a steel bar lying around I break the lock protecting the door, moving to aid Marcia as we slowly hoist the door open. With a slight creak, we're surprised to be greeted with a wind akin to a wintery day – which is weird given the history of the arena and its current state.

Marcia beat me to it. " . . . _Snow's Roses_ , what in _Panem's name_ happened here! _?"_

As we slowly saunter into the ice box, we're astounded to find multiple bodies perfectly preserved where they huddle and lay. If my years in middle school history class have taught me anything, their black and grey uniforms denotes them as rebels from District 13. ' _NEATH', 'POWELL' and 'ORSON_ ' were just some of the names I could make out on their uniforms. All of their faces are frosted over, except for _one_ female. The soldier is perfectly preserved, with moderate frost caking her features. She's oriental like me – with her slanted eyes and pale skin. _'P. NEWMAN'_ was the name stenciled onto her uniform.

Marcia lets out a gasp. "I know a Newman family . . . I wonder if –" she trails off with a shake of the head.

"Were _they_ Oriental as well?"

She gives her head a shake. "Well, _yeah_ , but they were half-breeds." she says with a casual air to her voice.

I recoil at her choice of wording; however I pay it no mind as I wrestle a silk bag out of her frigid grasp. Inside was a _holodisk –_ with the title being _'I'm Sorry'_ as I plopped it into my communicuff _._ The audio was filled with various topics such as her love for her parents and siblings.

 _' . . . And here I thought we were winning, I suppose not anymore. In conclusion, Mom, Dad, Theta and Thom . . . I'm sorry I didn't make it."_ Newman continues to weakly sob until the transmission concludes.

"That _sucks_." Marcia frowns as I pocket the microchip and continue padding down the body of the soldier. From the leg upwards, her pockets were devoid of anything useful, until I pat her chest. As I feel a black satchel strapped across, Marcia and I could only gasp as I force the clasp open.

In my hand for both of our eyes to see, was Newman's _Mauser_.

* * *

 ** _Paisley Linscott- Gordon, 36, District 11_**

 **Co-Victor of the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games.**

* * *

As soon as that boy held up that pistol for the world to see, I nearly done jump for _joy_.

" _Woo hoo, lucky them_ \- they found a working gun!" Zenobia Scoffs, pressing her cig into an ashtray as she exhales excess smoke. "If I dislike anything in the highest, its goody-two-shoe alliances like _theirs_ who coast through their Games like no one's business."

It seems that her fellow Career Victors agree, with the likes of Cessna, Glisten and Marissa nodding along with them dumb grins on their lips. Abigail and ol' Berglind tend to their tea in a corner. I'm glad to see the elders have some common sense.

Zinnia, our latest Victor at fifteen years old, prepares to say something to the Seventy-Seventh Victor, only for me to raise a quaint finger. She smiles and reclines back into her stool.

"Oh gee, I dunno 'bout that Zenobia," I begin, pointing towards the holovision as the Careers come into focus. "Maybe it's because my alliance has a little somethin' somethin' called ' _cohesion_ '."

Smirking, I watch as Marceline and her panel speaks on about how the Careers are off to an _'unsatisfactory start' - y'know,_ with the lack of actual tangible kills except dozens of walkin' dead? _WHOO-WEE,_ how I just _love Careers without a focus!_

Zenobia scoffs with a playful eye-roll. "Sooner or later, the Gamemakers will flush them out of their hidey-hole, and then _nature_ will work its course."

I return the gesture with an equally as playful wave. That's all it is at the end of the day, veiled banter. " _Whatever_ you say, Zenobia."

With a shake of her head and a smirk on her lips, Zenobia turns back to her gaggle of Victors while I focus back on the holo in front of us. Nearly three days in and so far, so good. Who would've known a poor, thirteen-year-old busker from the heart of District 11 would make it as far as she has. Then again, Cian would most likely still be alive if Clarence weren't so _uppity_.

"They work very well together." Murmurs Zinnia as she continues to glance at the holo. "I hope for nothing but the best for either of them."

Koller seems to agree, his finger rose into the air as he finishes off the remainder of his drink "You're learning quick Kid. First rule of mentorship - keep your expectations to a _minimum_."

Zinnia glances toward me for confirmation, nodding when I send a stern nod her way. What Zenobia was trottin' on about is true. Things will only get more difficult as the Gamemakers plan ahead. As long as Cia and Orville play it _smart_ , they'll have very little to worry about.

That's the thing about the Games, there's always that one tribute you get that seems _destined_ for higher things - only for them to go the way of the twenty-five. You _want_ to believe in the tribute under your wing, but after being burned year after year, it helps to be 'hands-off'.

They ain't outta the woods _yet_ , but top-tier supplies and a handgun paves the way.

And if there's _one_ _thing_ I've learned after twenty years of mentorin' - it's the _smaller_ victories that prep them for the final push.


	26. Day Three

**_Haus Der Toten; The 95th Hunger Games  
_ Day Three.**

* * *

 ** _Occo Barst, 16, District 5_**

* * *

All this seems a little _too_ easy.

With a rag from my knapsack I continue to polish down our trap, cleaning away the residue from yesterday's usage. The practice run had gone off without a hitch! You'd expect that the trap would short-circuit or some other mishap, but so far everything seems to be falling in place. How many mutts did this thing take down, _five_?

If it could take out dogs in the multitudes, then I wonder how it'd work on the _other tributes_. I'd bet the audience is curious, seeing how they didn't send any mutts on me while Cveta and Valentina distracted them as I worked out the remaining kinks.

"So," Cveta drawls, leaning against the wall as I continue to clean away. "How is it that you District 3 and 5 kids can create stuff like this so _easily_?"

Valentina snickers to herself, while tending to the inhibitor on the other side of the room. "Well _duh,_ living in a place in which Technology and Power are _everything,_ its almost a given that you would know a thing or two." she turns to me, smiling all the while. "Tell 'er Occo!"

I shrug, letting out a slight sigh. "In school we have dozens of subjects that deal with 'hands on' topics. There's _chemistry, electronic engineering, electronic design_ . . ."

Cveta ponders to herself. "Hmph, I guess it's _true_ what the commercials say about District 5-" she clears her throat, " _'District 5's inventions are a radical transformation of our world, as events in the remotest areas of Panem can be brought to you as they happen. District 5 brings us closer together!'"_

Her imitation of the propo you'd see on a holovision is enough to make me crack a slight smile and more than enough to get a simper from Valentina.

"They aren't lying," I reply, turning my back and returning my polishing. ". . . _Much._ "

"You two seem like pretty smart guys - especially you Occo." she replies. "It makes me wonder why things seemed to be a little . . . _rough_ back home."

"I kinda brought it on myself."

"How so?" asks Cveta.

Heat rises to my cheeks. "I kinda took a lead pipe to my parents' bathroom when I was nine years old . . . _Plus_ the bedroom walls as well."

At first, the answer was met with silence, then a burst of laughter from Cveta followed by Valentina. Where I would find myself balling my fists and counting to ten . . . I find myself laughing along with them. Unlike _Reiin, Vaynce, and Isana_ alongside countless other acquaintances, I _know_ that Cveta and Valentina are coming from a good place. It's funny how random people I've only just met seem to be better friends than people I've known for _years_.

"They deserve it for being so oblivious to you." giggles Cveta.

I reply with yet another shrug. "If District 5 is any indication, not to mention countless Hunger Games with that odd tribute, being ' _different'_ is never a good thing. Like a bad omen, it hangs over you, staving off even the most compassionate of people."

Cveta guffaws over my shoulder. "I'm from _District 6_ . . . people who aren't like the majority tended to be treated like trash all the time. _Heck_ ," she flashes her pink scars that dot her legs and neck. "Even _I_ get the occasional odd stare and hushed whisper."

"Well," Cveta begins, sauntering back into my vision. "With all the stuff you said on Marceline's show, people I think would be happy to have you around again _if_ you get out."

 _If I get out._ When I think of victory, I think of District 5's very own Piper Malveaux. Piper, coming from a 'lower' class such as Community Home children, only to become a Victor using sheer brains to frazzle the other tributes and Gamemakers alike. Where I hope that maybe I'll get the companionship that I yearn for once I win, Piper didn't really 'connect' with anyone at home afterward for obvious reasons. If people at home continue to be ignorant, then maybe the Capitol will appreciate me. They sure did during Marceline's show. If I did win and step off the train from the Capitol, they'd only want to know me for my namesake and the bevy of monies I'll receive . . . Maybe it's for the best that I prove them _all_ wrong, like _Piper_ did.

Soon, after polishing the conductors and testing it out once more, the trap was ready for another run and Valentina would need to get water to sharpen the traps efficiency.

"Okay . . ." I murmur, hovering around Valentina as I fasten the straps of her accessories one last time. "Multiple canteens – _check_ , a knapsack just in case - c _heck_."

Cveta plops her spear into her hands. "And here's a spear to defend yourself while you're out there."

"What about the launcher part?" I inquire.

"Claudia told me that in her tenure as Head Instructor, no one could properly wield the weapon . . . I doubt Valentina can."

With a grunt, we turn back to my partner who continues to glance at us with that blank smile on her face.

"Are you sure about this, Valentina?"

She pumps her head vigorously. "Anything to get us to the end," she shows us the minimap on her communicuff. "I've already set a waypoint to the pond! I'll be back in no time."

After a split second of hesitation, I embrace Valentina with a hug. " . . . Um, good luck out there okay?"

With a pat on my check and a sloppy salute, she slips out into the hallway. "Dont'cha worry guys, the audience will love us once we fire that thing up again!"

Exchanging a glance with Cveta, we continue to watch as Valentina strides down the checkered tiles with a pep in her step. A lot of people are quick to write her off, but I know she can do it. The quicker she retrieves the water, the quicker we can move on to finding targets and the _quicker_ the Games can progress.

When it comes to dealing with her and Cveta, its best to keep those thoughts away.

* * *

 _ **Kite Winderley, 17, District 4**_

* * *

Why couldn't the arena just be a _simple forest_ like in '74 or '91, _Snow_ , even ' _94_? The Gamemakers just had to get crafty, didn't they? Living dead . . . demon _dogs_ . . . what else will they throw our way, hm, _Frankenstein!_?

A sharp nudge is enough to jostle me from my light sleep. Melissa always taught us to slumber with caution, as many Careers before us were felled when they were at their weakest.

Tumbling out of my sleeping bag, I grab the assailant as they yelp in surprise and jut my knife towards their neck as I grip them from the collar.

" _Kite_ ," hisses Nic, his hands firmly grasped around mine. " _Easy amigo, it's time for you to do watch!"_

With a single nod, I drop him like a sack of potatoes as he falls to the floor with a light thud. Glancing outside, the sky continues to be a sickly grey as rain continues to fall. A glance at my communicuff confirms that it's about eight in the morning.

I sheathe the knife in my boot, collecting my trident from off the floor beside my sleeping bag as well. "You can't just be so . . . 'abrupt' like that, Nic." I chide, "Especially in an arena like _this_."

He raises his hands in faux surrender. "I know, I know . . . but you're a _preetty_ deep sleeper. Poking wasn't cutting it."

I glance around at the rest of the Career Pack, who continue to doze away in the 'apartment' we've taken refuge in. We all used the downtime between the dog muttation attacks and now to gain the rest we were sorely lacking. I guess taking down swarm after swarm of mutts gained us leeway with the Gamemakers.

My eyes glancing back towards the window, I catch a glimpse of even more silhouettes skulking towards the mansion. _Woo hoo,_ more useless mutts to slay while fifty more take their stead. I wonder if the other tributes are faring better or worse while we continue to tire ourselves out.

"Have things changed since we've reached 'Wave 3'?"

Nic shakes his head, sipping on what smells like cocoa instant. "Nada, other than the dogs and straggling soldiers we encounter." He raises a finger. "I've seen tons of em coming from the woods though, so we need to be weary of them."

' _Weary'_ is a simple way of putting it. "Well," I say with a slight yawn. "You can head back to sleep for another hour or two until everyone wakes up."

He waves me off with a lazy wag of the hand. "It was stupid of me to even _drink_ this thing," he muses, gesturing to our sleeping allies. "We've barely started the day as is. I'll just join you, how about that?"

With a grin and a loose shrug, I pat the chair next to me. "Sure thing Nic, I could use the company."

So he does, taking his seat next to me as we keep a lengthy eye on the door in front of us. We keep like this for a couple of minutes; the room is dead silent besides the occasional sip Nic makes as he drinks his cocoa. "Tell me about your academy, Nicolao."

He lets out a snort. "There's not much to tell you other than the navy taking you in and making you a sailor. I never was a trainee."

I'm slightly taken aback, more so at how brazen he was in revealing this to me. "You carried yourself so well in training, what happened?"

"I was in an acting troupe back home, so play-fighting is a _forte_ of mine."

I shake my head in confusion. Nic garnering a _seven_ in training because you waved a wooden sword around back home doesn't make sense. "How did you get your _seven_?"

"I did it by reciting _Romeo and Juliet_ with a more than willing trainer to roaring applause and cries of encore." He blushes as he folds his arms.

We both end up chuckling quietly amongst ourselves. We're cut from the same cloth, District 4 and Snow Island. I'll assume that everything from our Spanish population to our promenades and troublesome gangs of kids are similar to theirs. Being a bullshit artist must've gotten him out of plenty of jams previously.

"So why did you volunteer?"

"Like I said to Marceline, I volunteered for opportunity . . . a way out from the cycle of violence, a way out for my friends."

My lips twist into a frown. "Apart from the friends and the violence, your reasoning is pretty . . . _dumb_."

Nic scoffs, snickering as he shrugs. "Hey, I know basic swordplay – volunteering for a deathmatch in which only . . . what, _five people_ are better than you and the rest aren't? On top of that you never know what the arena will be or how your competition will rise or fall due to the arena being the way it is. How hard could it really be if you think about it – given the Victors of recent?"

He turns to me now. "What about you, District 4 seems like a pretty nice place . . . much more well off than Snow Island, why did _you_ volunteer?"

I think back to my girlfriend, my friends and family. "Basically the same reasons as you – opportunity, a name in the books and for my family to live _comfortably_."

He shakes his head. "So I'm not wrong in saying that District 4 is a comfortable place to live? If you ask me, giving that up – your girlfriend, a comfortable life in an ideal District, all for a high chance of death, is ' _pretty dumb'_."

Folding my arms, I proceed to ignore him. What does he know? He's a street urchin from a ' _territory_ ' that only joined in ten years ago! He and the tributes that come from that island know nothing about the traditions we carry. The Capitol has given us an opportunity of fame and fortune, and we would be ungrateful _not_ to take the opportunity. I continue to hold the silence until Aliyah wakes up, nudging everyone with her foot as she twists open the wooden blinds.

"Alright you guys, _rise n' shine_! Prepare your instant breakfasts, and then after we eat, we'll step up our hunt for the others. Two days of loafing has gone on long enough. "

As she roused them, slowly but surely, the rest of the pack woke up – their scars from yesterday's attack evident in their movement. Aliyah continues to caress the arm in which a mutt took a chunk from as the fog rolled in. Skylar makes a brave face as she walks with a slight limp from Rafaela's knife. Luana, Merlyn and Vincent are in fair condition, but _exhausted_ nonetheless and dotted with scratches from the mutts. _And as for me?_ Even now as I shift upward from my seat and saunter over to my rucksack, pain shoots up from my rib cage where a dog mutt sunk its teeth in me. Covered in a roll of gauze and sated with some painkillers from our loot, it still makes itself present.

"Hey Kite," calls Luana as she waves a ration my way. "You okay over there? You kinda just stopped mid-walk."

I scoff, shooting them a warm and charming grin.

"I'm quite alright my friend; just a . . . _brain freeze_ is all! Now, which one of you had the hotcakes and chicken hash?"

* * *

 ** _Herrick Argent, 16, District 3_**

* * *

Why couldn't we just wait until _we_ were confronted, not the opposite?

With a loud groan swings open the grand doors of the estate as Tybalt gives them a tug - revealing damp cobble paths and grand stairways. Spread out throughout the grounds and the fields ahead were _more undead soldiers._ The way their jaws snap at the air and the moans they gargle out as they shamble around is so _grotesque._ It's baffling to think that these _things_ used to be people not too long ago. Just the sight of them _alone_ yearns for me to retreat to the highest floor of this estate, barricade a room and let the other tributes deal with them.

Tybalt seems to be opposite, rolling his shoulders as stalks toward a pair of unassuming undead - his sword unsheathed. He kicks in the leg of the first, sinking the sword into its head as it stumbles to its knees. The second soldier earns a chop to the neck as it crumples to the floor- motionless as blackened blood pools around its body.

He shrugs at my blank stare I send his way. " _What_?" he asks, with that trademark smirk planted on his lips. "It serves as good practice for the real thing."

This earns a long, downtrodden sigh from me as the dying howls from the undead Tybalt dispatched attracted a dozen more. Good practice for _what_? We were so gung-ho about 'dominating' in the bloodbath - Cian myself and he - and look what happened? Cian was killed by some farm _girl_ from District 9 of all places, and I _myself_ was almost killed by her partner – who is equally as _useless_. If the girls from Eight and Nine were capable of doing what they did, then the others are just as good or even _better._ All I'm saying is that our battles need to be chosen _wisely_ _._ If Tybalt doesn't slow down, the fight he yearns to seek could be our _last._

In a few minutes time, we finish off the zombies with ease with me felling the last one with a spin – my sword hacking its head clear off its body as it crashes down the grand steps.

 _"That was um . . . quite the move, wasn't it Vi?"_

 _"Mm, I suppose their poor motor skills allow for such 'abstract' gestures."_

We both spin around – our swords jutting directly towards the indifferent holograms of Vi and Pax. Clad in yellow rain jackets and hats, Vi ironically feels the sky for rain that she cannot feel as Pax carries an umbrella for the both of them. The ominous theme that played in the background prior is replaced with the jingle that accompanies them always.

Tybalt groans, sheathing his sword. "What _d'you_ guys want?"

The children seem unfazed by his attitude, as their faces remain straight-lipped. _"A 'Good Afternoon' would suffice, Mister Moranthyfis . . ."_ Chirps Vi as she cracks a slight grin.

He rolls his eyes. "Ain't nothin' good 'bout this at all and y'all know it."

Vi casts a glance at her male counterpart, who regards her with his own knowing smirk. ". . . _Touché_."

"Well, what's new for today?" I ask, attempting to break down Tybalt's wall of ice.

 _"Firstly, congratulations are in order for making it three days in."_ begins Pax as he makes an 'O-K' gesture with his hand, _"Smashing job."_

 _"As you may know,"_ continues Vi, "A _s your time spent in this arena grows by the day, so does the difficulty of each 'wave' sent your way."_

I think back to the devil dogs of yesterday. Luckily, they were easy to dispatch between Tybalt and I. Regardless, I think they were only the _icing_ on the cake.

 _"You've bested the hounds of hell and their foot soldiers-" says Pax._

 _"-But if you believe that's all this arena holds then you are sorely mistaken."_ Adds Vi, continuing Pax' sentence.

 _"Sooo, we come to you with a fair warning!"_

 _"Play rough and move with tact!"_

 _"Keep your distance and stay frosty!"_

 _"Things from here on out will only prove to be more difficult as we go forward."_

 _"Good luck!"_ nods Pax with a graceful bow.

 _"And may the odds be ever in your favuh."_ Finishes Vi with a curt nod. And with a clap of thunder, the two children disappear without a trace.

Glancing at his communicuff, he points eastward. "According to this thingy here, there's a pond and a greenhouse not too far from off, let's see what we can find."

Exchanging nods we slowly move east, keeping our bodies low as we dart through the hedges and utilize the railings for cover. So far, no new muttations have joined us in the arena, _yet_. Thinking back to Vi and Pax' words, the undead rebels were pretty easy to dispatch - almost _too_ easy. I would imagine that back in the Capitol, the spectators would grow bored of constantly watching us mow them down. The dogs were indeed only the beginning, as they would get a better kick in seeing us overwhelmed and constantly on our feet. I just hope that no one was silly enough to venture out into the fields so that we can return back _inside_ and continue Tybalt's hunt from there - away from the new muttations the Gamemakers plan to unleash.

It doesn't take too long to reach the ' _Pond_ ' - a paved area with two man-made lakes with fountains in the middle among other foliage and concrete benches. Apart from the scars of war - husks of armored cars and rusted equipment - it seems to me that no one is here, only for Tybalt to clutch my forearm and point towards the greenhouse entrance which happens to be slightly ajar.

" _Look,"_ his finger juts toward a silhouette that moves back and forth inside the structure. " _Movement."_

Following his finger, I try to make sense of the figure that shuffles back and forth behind the glass. "Maybe it's just a straggling mutt?"

"Nah, that ain't no mutt," Tybalt says, unsheathing his sword and rolling his shoulders. "That there is a tribute, which means we can finally prove ourselves. Let's _get 'em._ "

As he bounds over the concrete railing, Colonel Tertius and Doris' words ring out through my conscience. _'_ _You don't have to like them, just be loyal enough to get you as far as ya need to go!'_ she said _._

 _'Play by your rules kid, make the stipulations as you see it.'_ he said.

If only it were so easy . . . If I had my way like I said, I would be held up in a room avoiding confrontation. But like what Tybalt said, hiding won't do us any good in an arena like this. If want a chance at victory, it starts by me making the first move - showing the Capitol that we are indeed capable and worthy of their attention.

And with that, I vault over the railing – my sword in hand as we approach the greenhouse.

* * *

 _ **Valentina Noether, 15, District 5**_

* * *

Look at all the yummy fruits and veggies lying around . . .

Sniffing a strawberry I had just taken from a nearby pot, I stuff it in my mouth - deeming it okay for eating. It _sure_ did taste the part! It's ten times better than eating stuff out of cans for the past two days. Regardless of the message Vi and Pax sent me not too long ago, my mission to the pond has gone off without a _hitch_! Although I had to take down a couple of zombies on my way over here, I managed to get _five_ whole bottles filled to the brim with water.

And now that I've come up across all _this_ . . . Cveta, Occo and I would be set for the _rest_ of the Games. Obviously, this greenhouse has seen better days - with its rotten fruit lying around and unkempt tendrils of foliage overflowing from the pots that line the room. Not to mention the _giant splotch_ of dried red stuff and the broken roof above it. I wonder if a tribute died here? If they did, it ain't my problem! It'd probably be beneficial if I stuffed as much fruit into my bag as possible. Boy will they be _jazzed_ to see all this good stuff. So I do, stuffing whatever I could find into my knapsack as quickly I could, while ignoring the rustling behind the glass. It was raining outside, so I'll assume it was just a branch or the shrubs.

Strawberries, nectarines, peaches . . . I doubt the Gamemakers would poison this stuff, what, with all the other thingy's they put in this arena?

My thoughts are interrupted with a chime from my communicuff, as I gasp and clasp the speaker. We don't want to attract any unwanted attention . . . Tapping the 'Notes' application, I select the message just sent by Piper.

 _"Stay alert." - Piper._

I frown somewhat. Stay alert from _what_? I don't need to be told _twice_. Or maybe I _did_ , as I hear the door lock shut from behind me. My heart sinks as I slowly turn around, watching as the boys from District 3 and 10 block the only entrance – in their hands happen to be imposing swords. "See," says the Ten boy with a cocky smirk on his lips and tone to match. "I told you someone was in here - and to think everyone was mauled by zombies or something."

In a bout of panic, I motion to all the fruit that surrounds us. "Look, there's plenty of food to go around for all of us! I don't mind sharing!" I smile, holding out an apple. The Ten boy casually shakes his head – giving his sword a twirl.

"We're what, three days in and no deaths? People are getting bored, District 5, and it's time to get the ball rolling again." He says, his voice level.

I glance at the Three boy, who averts his eyes as they meet mine. "It's nothing personal . . . We just need to start making moves, is all."

With that, they slowly inch over towards me, prompting me to slink further backward until my back is pressed against a tray of pots. Just as the Ten boy's foot crushes a fragment of glass from the hole in the roof, the greenhouse door bursts open as a figure stumbles in.

It was a mutt, the same as the one's we've been dealing with since launch- but with a _twist._ Unlike the mangled and rotten corpses we've gotten used to, this mutt seems . . . 'fresh' – with a somewhat soiled uniform, its eyes blood red and its mouth equally bloody as it let out a raspy snarl – foam frothing from its mouth.

It seemed much more agile and 'in control' of its movements – although 'spastic', as it lunged toward the pair of tributes in front of me as they screamed in confusion.

I believe this is _my_ time to go!

My feet pumping, I shove past the trio, through the open door into the rain. The rain is coming down much heavier now than it was prior - more of those . . .' _spastic_ ' zombies continue to make their way towards the pond. I make my way up the steps behind the greenhouse, to the wall of vines I used to get down here. It's just two balconies until I reach the third, it'll be no problem. However, as I see the two boys break out of the greenhouse - their swords bloodied as the Ten boy points towards me and gestures for his partner to follow - all while hacking away at any 'runners' that barrel towards them.

. . . Maybe I could _lure them._ We wouldn't even _need_ much water due to the downpour already. Yeah, yeah . . . maybe we _do_ need to get the ball rolling just a little bit, but it'll be us who'll be getting it started, not _them._

As they finally defeat the swarm of new muttations, I pretend to struggle - making my way over the third balcony while they were half way past the second.

I power down the checkered hall – bursting through our room door as Cveta and Occo jump up in surprise. Paying the two no mind, I trip as I haphazardly empty each canteen I brought with me across the floor – around each inhibitor.

"Valentina!" shouts Occo as he unhooks his mace, "What's wrong?"

I spin around towards the door. "They'r-"

* * *

 _ **Tybalt Moranthyfis, 16, District 10**_

* * *

As soon as Five turned around, my sword was plunged into her chest.

Ignoring their cries of surprise, I glance at the Five male and the Six female behind her. " _Great_ , now we have even _more_ useless tributes to put down. _Thanks_ for leading them to us." I say to the Five girl, twisting the blade further.

Her face contorts into a grimace as she cries out in pain; I ignore the blood that sprays from her mouth onto my face. Using her stomach as leverage, I level my boot against it and push her off - freeing my sword as she spins and crumples to the floor in a pool of blood. She makes an attempt to crawl toward her allies - her hand outstretched as she raises it toward them. She holds that position for a second, only for her to droop against the carpet as her cannon booms.

"So wha' d'we have now . . . A _scarred_ _doll_ and _spaz_ with anger issues?" I nod once, rolling my shoulders. "This should be _pretty_ easy."

District 5 levels a mace toward me, snarling as he charges my way. If training was any indication, this fight will be a _short_ one. The Six girl on the other hand seems determined to act, grabbing her spear from off a nearby table as she slowly stalks toward Herrick.

I level my stance, glancing at Herrick who appears conflicted. "I hope you're ready. I got this guy, you got District 6."

With that, we leap into action - Five's mace collides against my sword. He certainly has some weight on him as that on top of his anger is enough to corral me into a corner as his mace comes down again and again. As the sparks continue to fly after each blow, I'm careful to parry for the area where the spiked ball meets the beginning of the handle – lest his blow breaks my sword in two.

Like a bullfighter taming its bull – I sidestep his blow as he slams downward, splitting a table down the middle in a spray of dust and splinters. He spins around as I level my sword in front of me. Breaking into a sprint, he prepares to swing right. I duck, the wind from his mace _swooshing_ the air as I kick his shin in and propel him forward by his back, prompting him to crash into a closet in a plume of dust.

 _All too easy._ Smirking, I stride toward Herrick and his opponent on the other side of the room who seems _solely_ focused on him. She seems to be holding her own very well, jutting her spear at a pace that judging by Herrick's sloppy parries, is too much for him to handle. Before her spear could find itself buried in his side, I jump in - sliding my sword across the back of one of her calves. She cries out in pain, spinning towards me, prompting me to parry her spear before it slices across my neck.

My distraction is enough for Herrick to swing his sword across her back. She lets out a shout of agony, her blood spraying across the wall as she crumples to the floor face down. _Just as I predicted. Are you seeing what I'm talking about now, Herrick?_

I regard him, nodding in approval at her limp body. "Good job." I say, glancing back toward the boy from District 5. He seems to slowly be coming to, rising from the rubble of the closet. His face was caked with dust as we slowly began to approach him from both sides from the other side of the room.

"Good game, District 5 . . ." I breathe, jostling my head from side to side and wiping off the excess rain from off my face. "I just wanna let you know that it ain't personal."

I bound forward, my sword at the ready. But as I do, I notice a certain _squelch._ Was it blood perhaps?

"HEY _,_ District 10 _!_ "

I pivot toward the Six girl, who remains curled up in the corner of the room we left her at - a _controller_ clutched in her hand. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that water and electricity don't mix? _"_

Water and electricity, what is she going on about? I glance down at my feet noticing the puddles of water mixed in with the blood of the fighting . . . then the bloody _transformer_ that was set up beside the window with one of its wires running _directly_ through the liquid in which Herrick and I currently stand.

Herrick and I could only exchange a glance before being cast alight by the current.

I feel my entire body _clench_ as the current dances through my body. With that clench comes a painful tingle that spreads throughout, prompting me to scream as the tingle turns into a prolonged _burning_ sensation – as If I pressed my hand to a stove and _left it there_. I assume that Herrick feels the same way, as his shrieks pierce the air.

The room becomes brighter and brighter, then a loud * _bang_ * could be heard as I find myself tumbling to the floor – the urge to sleep being too much to stave away.

. . .

Slowly but surely, I regain my bearings. My eyes struggle to remain open and I can't feel my legs. The air stinks of burnt flesh and smoke still clouds the room. Successfully lifting my neck, I spot Herrick sprawled out on the floor – or at least who I _think_ is Herrick. The body was charred and smoking still, the goldenrod yellow of his jacket melted in with the black of what appears to be his skin. District Six remains slumped in the corner – her eyes unfocused and what appears to be a brief smile etched on her lips as a pool of blood surrounds her.

Where was District 5 in all this?

Hissing, I crane my head toward the entrance to see the boy in question – his mace dragging against the charred floor. Is he _muttering_ to himself? I don't necessarily care anymore, as his boots appear in my vision – as I glance upward his mace is at the ready.

All I could do was let out one last chuckle as it came crashing down _over and over and over._

* * *

 ** _Marica "Cia" Mata, 13, District 11_**

* * *

 _'Things from here on out will only prove to be more difficult as we go forward'_ seems like an understatement now!

Orville and I crack open a window as the first cannon fired, waiting patiently as it boomed periodically another _three_ times. I glance at my partner, so seems as confused as I am. "I counted _four_ cannons, how about you?"

He nods. " _Four_ sounds about right."

Right, that makes four tributes gone _._ My mind swims with possibilities. Were the mutts the culprits in this? Did the Careers get their bearings? In the end, I don't think I really care. That's four more people out of the way of _possibly_ going home. After a day or two of stagnation their cannons made me feel . . . _relieved._ If it _was_ mutts, then I'm glad Orville and I agreed to move out from that kitchen and onto somewhere else – the second floor east wing ' _Library_ ' to be exact. Although it's tempting, I don't think it'd benefit us to remain holed up for long.

After a five minute break, we begin walking again – my eyes never leaving Orville's mauser which was hung up in a newly sponsored holster.

"I can't believe you found a _working_ gun." I gush, turning a corner and opening the grand doors to the library. Though there ain't anything grand about this place – at least not anymore. The shelves were somewhat barren and the furniture was strewn about like a series of barricades. Hanging off the walls and banisters were tattered flags of the mockingjay and District 13.

Typical of the Six boy, he shoots off a pessimistic shrug. "It's only ten bullets – a single magazine."

"Yeah," I scoff, shoving him lightly, "That's ten bullets _too_ many. We're some pretty lucky ducks!"

He glances at me with a raised eyebrow, prompting me to recoil at my choice of words. ' _We're_ '? _He's_ the one who found it, not me. That makes _him_ the useful one. But I've pulled my weight, right? Like making the decision to storm the cornucopia, helping fend off the mutts even though I was slightly reluctant on 'killing'?

He seems to notice my reaction, as he smiles. "You're right; we _are_ some pretty lucky ducks."

Or so we _thought_. Orville and I's heads shoot back towards the entrance as Vincent from District 1 kicks open the door – casually laughing it up with his pack before their eyes cross ours. I don' think I've ever had such a spirit-crushing moment like this.

"Hey, hey, hey, _look_ what we have here . . ." drawls Vincent, unsheathing his sword.

Aliyah shoves past him, knives twirling in her fingers. "I'm surprised. I would've thought those cannons just now were for you guys!" more chuckles erupt from her posse as they all stride further into the room, weapons drawn.

"What can we say?" I sneer, watching from the corner of my eye as Orville slowly reaches for his pistol, "We're an _exceptional_ alliance."

Aliyah shrugs. "I'll give you that. But you know what they say . . . all good things must come to an end." she gestures to her fellow Careers. "Guys, _surround_ them."

As they proceed to stride forward, we all still at the series of loud bangs and moans that accompany them. Not one second after does a window burst open - an undead armed with a club smashing his way into the room as more follow.

" _Shit,_ there's more!" barks the Two boy.

"What are those, _nightsticks!?"_ exclaims the Four female.

Luana leaps to the top of a table, launching one of her spears at us. As it whistles through the air - Orville and I duck behind an overturned desk as it sinks into the ground in-between us. Orville levels his aim and fires, prompting the Careers to scurry with a flurry of curse words as the bullets ricochet off of the nearby furniture. Ripping the spear out of the floor, I toss it to Orville as one of those 'club zombies' rushes our way. It swings sluggishly towards him and he dodges it, jutting the sharp end of the spear into its left eye as it slumps backward. Slowly, Orville and I retreat back to the reception desk - taking down every mutt that comes too close for comfort.

"Now _what_!?" pants Orville, jabbing his spear through the neck of an assailant. Retrieving my spear from the chest of an undead, I point toward the door behind the reception desk and the ' _stairs_ ' sign as clear as day. " _There_ , we can take the stairs!". With that, we break into a sprint towards the desk. Orville goes first, lugging his equipment before hoping over.

Just as I flip over, an undead that looks much different than the others, shoves past the crowd of mutts and slams into me, her jaws snapping all the while.

"Orville, HELP!" I seethe, clutching her wrists as we roll from side to side - being very careful to avoid her jagged teeth from taking a chunk off my face. Her jaw snaps once, twice, and just as she growls into my face for the third bite, a loud * _bang_ * could be heard as it slumps to the side - gore seeping from its head. Orville, after holstering his gun, hoists me up on my feet - lugging our equipment as we bolt through the door and up the stairs to what appears to be an office or study. As Orville peers out the door before barricading it - it leads out to the third floor hallway.

"Are we in the clear?" I ask, smiling as he nods.

"I believe we're okay now . . . for _now_ at least." He lets out a nervous chuckle before tossing me my things. "Let's gear up again. Hopefully we can find a fresh place to set up again, or maybe we could just head back to the kitchen? Or maybe we should just hold out here for now, then move out?"

I nod, clutching my rucksack as I prepare to hoist it over my shoulders. But as I do, a nagging pain spreads across my chest. Wincing, I turn away from Orville who pokes his head out the door, rolling up my shirt to find a splotch of blood – _fresh_ blood. Though that splotch of blood were teeth marks as clear as day. Nothing a little disinfectant and gause can't fix!

"You okay?" Orville asks, peering back in as I finish adjusting my shirt and zipping up my jacket.

I mew in approval, nodding my head once more as I ready my spear. "OK as I'll ever be . . ."

* * *

 _ **Merlyn Edian, 17, District 2**_

* * *

Aliyah needs to shut the _fuck up_ for just _ONE MOMENT . . . Snow._

Even as we slowly progress down the third floor ' _East Wing_ ', sluggishly fending off moaning husks as we go, she still musters enough energy to chew us out. As if her performance post-bloodbath was any better than the rest of us.

"We had them right there, _right there_ in _PLAIN SIGHT_. And you're telling me that we couldn't kill a pair of _thirteen-year-olds!?_ " She launches one of her knives into the forehead of an undead soldier, ripping it out with a spray of blood before sweeping the legs of another and repeating the process – twisting the blade as the creature stilled under her weight.

"They had a _gun,_ " grunts Luana charging ahead as she impales a 'runner' full force. "Then these things _showed_ up, it's not like we had many options . . ."

Aliyah lets out a nasty snarl, popping the neck of an undead with a quick twist. " _Not many options,_ you're _kidding_ right? You've spent _how many years_ at a fancy school with you're stupid letterman jackets and prissy mannerisms yet you can't subdue a kid with a measly pistol?!"

Yet she's spent _how many years_ in a military academy yet can't seem to apply basically leadership capabilities without hindering the team?

" _Please_ , if I recall, _you_ were retreating along with us," says Vincent, grunting as he splits an undead in two, "I didn't see _you_ leading any charge!"

"What, and get myself killed because my alliance was spooked by a kid with a _pistol_?" Aliyah's eyes dart my way, "Well, aren't you going to _speak up_ for once?!"

I hold my tongue, ducking under the swing of a club and decapitating my attacker as it lets out a pained howl. "We're trying our _best,_ Aliyah. This arena isn't as flexible as we imagined it to be." There, a flexible and ' _leveled'_ reply.

Not too antagonizing, as we're all just trying to adapt to survive here – me more than the others, but still.

She isn't having any of it, as she lets her knife fly into the eye socket of yet another undead – she hisses, caressing the scratch wound on her left bicep.

"Their ' _best'_ isn't good enough! With you and I being cut from the same damn cloth, I'd expect you to understand my frustration."

The seven of us skid down the corridor into a foyer, our pants heavy in the air as we power down the hallway, unsheathing our weapons once more as a horde of undead stumble into view. I glance back as Kite equips his trident, only for him to groan in pain – his free hand shooting to his side as Skylar comes to his aid. Nicolao covers them – parrying a swing with a club and answering with a thrust from his rapier.

"Can we quit arguing for just _one second_?!" shouts Skylar, as she motions toward the mutts advancing towards us, "We've got company."

Aliyah jostles her head, giving her knives a twirl. "Sure, maybe you guys can prove yourselves now."

And with that, we charge forward toward the mass of mutts. I would assume that in the eyes of the actual viewers, the constant struggle between us and the undead is sure to add extra entertainment value. On the other hand, the repetitive killing of mutts doesn't stave off the lack of combating _actual tributes_.

On the other hand, the mowing down of these ' _zombies'_ make good practice – reminding me of target dummies back home. It must be that way for everyone else too; as we quickly set aside our bickering to take down the mutts sent our way. Nicolao and Luana sweep the legs of each mutt while Vincent and I jab our sword and harpoons into their skulls.

" _Here_ , I have an idea!" yells Nicolao, grasping one end of Luana's spear as she grasps the other. Together, they pin a handful of undead against the wall. "Use the flat end of your pole weapons!" Exchanging glances, the remainder of us repeats their action – Aliyah and I with my harpoon, Skylar and Kite with her trident. Side by side, the mutts remained pinned to the wall, continuing to snarl as their arms wave helplessly against our poles.

Vincent readies his sword, his stance crouched. "You guys ready?"

I duck a swipe from an undead in front of me. " _Come on_ , Vincent."

"Okay, you guys better duck!"

With his sword inverted, he sprints – the weapon swooshing above our necks as he zooms by the line. The snarls that filled the room just seconds prior are no more, as the walls are now caked with blood and their headless bodies litter the floor _._ A familiar, ominous chime fills the room as _'WAVE 3'_ is now a _'WAVE 4'_.

Catching my breath, I glance around at my allies. As our labored breaths fill the air, they too appear exhausted, clutching their knees and various wounds from yesterday's dog attack.

Nic lets out a weak chuckle. "Heh, we did it!"

As everyone breaks into hesitant laughter Kite stumbles forward, the side of his shirt bloody. "I'm not feeling all that well . . ." He slurs, groaning as tumbles to the floor. Gasping, we rush to his side, elevating his head as he flutters in and out of consciousness.

As I unravel his shirt and undo his bandages, we all cringe at the pus-infected bleeding bite mark that dominates the right side of his stomach.

* * *

 _ **Rianne Verano, 16, District 9**_

* * *

Things are not looking so good for Adele.

I continue to pace though the halls of the lodge she and I seek refuge in; I'm at loss for what to do next. _Things from here on out will only prove to be more difficult as we go forward . . ._ A _s your time spent in this arena grows by the day, so does the difficulty of each 'wave' sent your way . . ._

Their words continue to echo inside my head like a _broken holo. Why now, why so early?_

"Vi, _Pax!_ " I call out, to no one in particular. "I can use your services for a moment or two!"

Suddenly, the two holographic children clamber up the stairs – the eerie ambient music now replaced by their signature, inquisitive tune.

 _"Good evening, Miss Verano."_ chimes Vi.

 _"How may we be of service?"_ adds Pax.

Motioning for them to follow, I creak open the door and gesturing toward Adele, who remains dormant on the bed. She's seen better days, her neck wrapped with gauze in which the blood slowly continues to seep through in a _sickly_ brown color.

"I'm confused . . ." I wobble my head, reeling in a sharp breath. "I-I tried _everything_ , cleaning it, patching it up to the best of my ability . . . and it just kept getting _worse_."

"Miss Havillard is succumbing to an infection inflicted by the ' _Cerberus'_ mutts." Deadpans Vi.

 _"Be it a bite or scratch –"_ recites Pax,

 _"– or exchange of bodily fluids through any orifice, the effects of the serum used on the muttations depicted in this arena are instantaneous and fatal."_ Finishes Vi with a nod.

I glance back toward Adele as she mews out a weak cough. "So . . . that's it, huh? There's nothing else that can be done?"

 _"Affirmative."_ says Vi.

 _"However, given the circumstances of today, she is quite lucky to have made it this far given her implications."_ says Pax.

Well, I heard the pair, with silence from our mentors on top of their word – that seems like more than enough confirmation to throw in the towel.

"Okay, um . . . thanks for the advice." I say, awkwardly waving them away.

 _"Good luck Miss Verano,"_

 _"And may the odds be ever in your favuh."_

Adele's eyes dart my way as I ease my way into the doorframe. _"W-h-ho was that?"_

 _"_ Who was what?" I lie, adjusting her covers, regarding her. "I was just on watch, you might be hearing things. How are you feeling?"

It was a pointless question. Her skin was clammy and paler than usual, with deep bags around her eyes, her hair matted and sweaty. Again, the bandage was leaking through somewhat –regardless of the two bands of gauze currently secured around her neck.

"It _hurts_ so bad." She moans, wincing as I feel her knuckles flexing from under the sheets. "I think I – I think I can't feel my legs anymore . . ."

Letting out a breath I didn't even know I was holding I nod once in acknowledgement – collecting my rucksack and digging through it to reveal our first-aid kit. Among the countless rolls of gauze and band-aids and tablets were two syrettes of _morphling._ Mom was pretty handy with healing; I remember her words about this stuff all too well – _one injection to keep the pain away, two to seal the deal._

I inject the syrette into her arm twice, a weak smile etched on my lips as she lets out a labored sigh.

"I feel numb now." She whispers. " . . . No more pain."

I pat down her forehead, frowning as her skin feels like that of a warm mug of cocoa. "That's _good_ Adele, I'm glad you're feeling better."

It was the very least I could do, make her way out a peaceful one. She would do the same for me, if our positions were swapped. I would assume her parents were at least somewhat content with her end, better _this_ than being mauled to death or impaled with a sword.

Her grip on my finger prompts me to glance back down toward her. "Try and _win_." She breathes. "You're free now, no more weight."

 _No more weight?_ I _need_ the weight, the _confirmation_ , a partner to balance me out. Sure I was intelligent, but I'm also callow and _indecisive._ I always valued an extra opinion, like she and Joelle always offered – confirming that what I did was _good enough_.

She _did_ say _no more weight._ Maybe that's what I need, without anyone's approval to seek; I can forget about all that self-doubt and work on my _own_ accord. I can be Rianne Verano – the District 9 female who earned a seven in training, who aced her interviews, who fended off hordes of undead muttations.

"Sure thing Adele," I return the grip with equal force. "I'll try harder just for _you."_

Our eyes both dart to the window, as the anthem blares out once more. I can't help but snort as the faces of the Ten and Three boy succeeding the girls from Five and Six. It makes me wonder about the circumstances . . . where was the Five boy now?

My eyes refocus on Adele now, who quietly giggles to herself. "What's so funny?" I ask, my cheeks stinging as I grin along with her.

"Here I am dying since yesterday, and yet I _outlasted_ those four tributes. Maybe it isn't all that bad." She glances up at me, tears welling in her eyes.

"Sixteenth place given all the circumstances isn't so shabby."

A nervous laugh escapes my lips as I blow out a sigh, smoothing down her hair.

"Sixteenth place ain't bad at all _, not bad at all . . ._ "

* * *

 ** _Berglind Jonsdottir, 109, District 2_**

 ** _Victor of the Third Hunger Games_**

* * *

Why couldn't things just _remain_ as they were prior?

Back in _my_ day they would just chuck us into a sporting arena no problem! Now we have these dead men walking, dogs hailing from the pits of hell and a whole bunch of other _nonsense_. If you ask me, they should go back to the basics – you, your opponents, an open field and a weapon of choice. Simple as that.

"Within a day or two, they're going to end up _just_ like the Eight girl." I say to Zenobia, occasionally glancing at a frustrated Silvia from Six as her escort tries to calm her down. Peacekeepers had to be called in to separate Piper and Annabelle from dismantling each other over the deaths of their respective tributes.

"She got nicked in the neck; of course she would've kicked the bucket by now." replies Zenobia, extinguishing her cigarette in a tray.

"It was a simple bite," I remind her. "Not even a chunk of flesh was taken. Look how fast it got the way it did. I've seen it many times in previous Hunger Games."

Zenobia sips her drink. "Never like this though?"

I shake my head. " _Never_ like this."

Our eyes glance to the holo behind the counter. In my many many years of mentorship, I have overseen a plethora of Career packs - some stellar . . . some _not_. It seems that our pupils' lack of cohesion will continue for yet _another year._

Following the dog attack, this year's pack has scraped by the skin of their teeth - suffering various scratches and bites. The female side of our tribute pair also suffered a bite from the dogs. Merlyn escaped unharmed - a smart boy he is. Regardless, the pack this year is without aim, constantly cutting down muttations while their _real_ enemies hide within the crevices of the estate.

It will be only a matter of time before the group gets even more restless and fragmented, then _yet anothe_ r Outlier will cherry pick their way to victory. Without cohesion, a set goal, _losing_ is always a certainty. After frantically scanning a PDA between the two of them, Marissa Lynne and Cessna Embraer of District 4 and 1 conclude that the wounds weren't serious. _Or so they think._

"They're fine!" chirps Cessna, "We'll sponsor them more alcohol to dress their scrapes and they can continue on with no problems."

"They're not going to last another day if they continue at this rate." mutters Zenobia as she twists the stump of her cigarette into an ashtray.

I take a prolonged sip of my tea, effectively stifling my giggles. I like many other spectators, enjoy the tinier details of each given situation. Anyone with a little foresight knows that the problems are only just beginning. Everything from the haggard stance of Vincent from District 1 after cutting down just one undead to the rather _disgusting_ way Kite Winderely's bite froths over with pus after each dressing - only for him to quietly adjust himself again screams ' _problem_ '.

A problem for the other tributes? Yes. However, it is _my_ tribute that will feel the repercussions due to their faulty work ethic.

I need to think of something _now._

I retrieve my . . . ' _PiPhone'_ and begin sifting through my contacts, smiling as I select the number I require.

"Yes . . . hello Mr. Montresor, how are you my dear? That's good, I am doing very well. Am I enjoying the Games so far? But of course, I have family that served during the war you know. The only good Reb is a dead one, ha ha ha! _But_ I have an idea that'll make it all the _more enjoyable . . ._ Well, I'm happy you'll oblige me . . ."


	27. Day Four

**_Note:_** It's been so long since I've used blogger . . .I kinda forgot the password! Sorry about that, I didn't realize people were still glancing at it! I'll try and tinker with it again soon.

So I made a new one from scratch!

hausdertotenhgblogspotcom

. . . Y'know, dot blogspot dot com

Thank you for reading along in the background, with this new blog, the experience should be much more polished.

* * *

 ** _Haus Der Toten; The 95th Hunger Games  
_ Day Four.**

* * *

 _ **Landry Danton, 15 , District 7**_

* * *

The boom that resounds throughout the arena is enough to jolt me awake.

With a sharp gasp I unsheathe a knife from my bandolier, jutting it out into the darkness. Besides the archaic furniture and the drab grey that seeps in through the wooden blinds, no combative tributes seem to be insight.

Except _Rafaela_ of course, she too has her large knife firmly grasped in her hand – her hair messy as she glances my way, sighing in relief.

I shrug. "People are hunting already?"

Rafaela shakes her head, glancing at her communicuff. "Only half past nine, maybe it was a gradual death."

I don't buy it. Vi and Pax have spewed a whole lotta moss for dozens of years, but they always have a meaning in the end. Usually, by the time you add two and two together – it's already far too late.

Better to be safe than sorry.

"Let's say you and I start our day early?" I ask, smirking as I slip on my jacket. "Let's catch them off guard instead of us?"

Rafaela's smile says it all. "Si, I love the way you think."

…

So far things are looking good, as good as an undead-infested arena _can_ be.

Rafaela and I have grown accustomed to sleeping lightly and . . . how did Vi and Pax say it? ' _Playing rough and moving with tact'._ As crazy as it sounds I'd rather see hundreds more of those freaks stumbling around than meet up with an actual tribute, because at least with these shamblers, dealing with them is like taking candy from a baby.

Although, sooner or later – judging by the five faces that appeared in the sky last night, my wish ain't coming true anytime soon.

Polishing one of my many knives in my hand, Rafaela and I continue to traverse the 'basement' – more like a crypt – of this mansion. Unlike the fancy ornate walls, marble floors and sturdy pillars that lined the halls upstairs, down here the walls were built of stone and secreted liquid that made them glisten. That, on top of the plenty of torches that lined the way made for ample lighting. A waterway was also situated right beside us . . . although I ain't goin' in there even if I was paid to do so.

Would I be ready to face a tribute when the time comes? I sure hope so, as these shamblers have served as ample practice for when fighting really matters.

"So," Rafaela says aloud, her accent amplified. "How are you feeling now that we're four days in?"

"Honestly?" I say, turning towards her as I scoff. "I'm scared outta my mind. I guess it's true what they say in the interviews, your heart is constantly beating in anticipation for the next fight, the hours spent fighting off sleep – afraid another tribute will slit your throat while you're out, it's all true."

"You and me both sister," Rafaela nods, a slight smirk on her lips as she caresses the brick wall. "Although you seem to be holding your own even before they shipped us here. Your familia must be proud."

 _Familia_ . . .? Oh, _family_! I remember once again that I'm now Seven's last hope of winning after Tamir. "Yep," I drawl, with extra empathies on the 'p'. "We Danton's are a sturdy brood. We never back down from a challenge . . . even if it's a Hunger Games I guess."

Even with our fervent and emotional goodbyes back in the justice building, I insisted that our motto of staying tough and being exceptional didn't end – both for me going in the arena . . . and _them_ if the worst happens.

"What would y'do if you won?" she asks.

If I _won_ . . . ? We went from twenty to fifteen within a blink of an eye; the numbers will drop further before we know it. Its 'far-fetched' but it doesn't hurt to speculate a little.

"Besides the obvious stuff like helping my folks pay off their bills and whatnot . . . I'd throw a party." I nod, a smile creeping across my lips. "I know there's Parcel Day and the entire District comes together from all over, but just one giant party at the Victors Village would be pretty neat. I'd invite my entire school, the soccer team, my bros Everett and Birch . . . drink some hard cider, it'll be a blast." My hands shoot into the air nonchalantly.

"Hey . . . I might just buy myself a convertible! They say the '59's fins will be longer next year." I turn to her, talking about potential victory brightening the mood and overshadowing the ambient music that rings throughout the mansion. "What about you? What would Rafaela Novia do if she took the crown?" I inquire with a grin.

As she raises a finger to answer, a sound rings out from down the hallway. Our heads dart down into the slight darkness – listening. It sounded slimy . . . as if someone was wetting their lips.

We continue to glance in shock as yet another monstrosity from Capitol approaches us. It was a shambler alright, but not any typical fleshbag Rafaela and I haven't handled. Its body was bloated, and its skin was mottled where its uniform didn't cover. Not to mention its enormous gut, as it raises its hands and slowly stalks our way.

Rafaela scoffs. "Must be a new type of mutt, a pretty dumb one if you ask me." She raises her knife, twirling it, "I'll take care of it."

"Rafaela _WAIT,_ that mutt doesn't look ri-!"

With a casual stride and her knife glistening by her side she advances toward the cumbersome mutt, grunting as she jabs the knife into its chest. The thing didn't let out a howl and buckle to the floor like your generic shambler. Instead, its eyes began to bulge and its body also began to inflate bigger and bigger, like a balloon being blown into. I flinched as the mutt exploded – spreading buckets of blackened blood and bits of flesh everywhere. Rafaela was tossed to the ground, covered in the gunk. She shields her eyes, withering on the floor as she cusses in her native tongue.

"What's wrong Rafaela?! Tell me what hurts!" I rush to her side, my nose withering at the rot that invades it.

"That _shit_ got into my _EYES, man_ It _BURNS_!" she cries, as I slink her arm around my shoulder.

"You hold on for just a bit more, we're getting the hell outta here." I plead.

Through the waters ripples emerged more shamblers, and they too were bloated and coated with moss and other water-life. It doesn't take much else for Rafaela and me to start backpedaling as fast as we could to the exit.

During our hasty escape to the ground floor, Rafaela slips in a puddle of water – dragging me down to my knees with her. She lets out a startled cry while struggling with a shambler that seems to have lost its ability to walk – as it clutches her leg while she kicks at it with the other. Just as I attempt to come to her aid, my knife finds itself buried in the jaw of another shambler – grunting as I tear it out and shove him back towards the horde that continues to slink forward. Rafaela jabs her knife into the skull of her attacker, pushing him off as she clambers to her feet.

As we turn around, we both find ourselves impaling yet another mutt – her knife skewering its heart, mine its jaw- shoving It back into the water.

"Any ideas?" asks Rafaela as she continues to rub her eyes. As I glance at the mob of mutts – including those bloating guys, an idea _does_ come to mind.

I unsheathe a knife from my bandolier. "I got one . . . we might wanna duck though!" I announce, launching the knife into the stomach of one of the bloaters. Like putting a pin to a balloon, a series of wet pops could be heard as the remainders of the mutts crumble to the floor in a plume of fleshy mist. Blood and bits paint the floors, the walls, bob in the water and spot our outfits as the shamblers struggle to regain their footing – some resort to _crawling_.

Our clothes are practically _ruined,_ my hair is in comparable state, the entire room smells _disgusting . . ._ but we're alive. _I'm_ alive, and that's all that matters.

Rafaela lets out a labored breath, wincing as she bats her eyes. "Heh, good job Landry . . ."

I smile, patting my ally on the back. "Thank you, thank you! Now, lets get outta here for real - check out those peepers of yours."

* * *

 _ **Orville Mullen, 13, District 6**_

* * *

We must be one of the luckiest pairs of tributes to ever play in the Games since . . . last year I guess? Two twelve and thirteen-year-olds winning a Hunger Games at the _same_ time pretty much makes you the luckiest of the lucky. On the other hand, finding a pistol, having a plethora of supplies and outwitting the Careers have to make us at least _one_ of the luckiest, I'd say.

However, that luck is bound to run out _sooner or later_. As long as I'm aware that _nothing_ is a given, I should stay above the waves.

Marcia and I continue to hole ourselves in this office, chowing down on another breakfast ration for brunch with much more snacks to spare. It makes me wonder how our adversaries are doing right about now. Judging by the cannon this morning, not very. Speaking of doing well, I glance at Marcia, who only seems to be taking short sips of her cocoa – her food barely touched. She returns my stare, her forehead glistening with sweat as she slips a damp curl of hair to her ear.

"What's wrong," I ask, pointing toward her food. "You haven't eaten your potatoes and ham! Don't make me regret switching with you . . ."

" _No, no, no_ , it's okay!" she beams, continuing to sip on her cocoa. "I'm not that hungry I guess. . . I blame it on my nerves."

I nod. "I don't blame you. On the brighter side of things, we seem to be doing pretty well for a pair of younger tributes . . . better than I initially thought."

Her smile turns into a slight frown. "The closer we get to the end, the more I fear about how . . ." she motions her finger between her and me "- _This_ will end."

I find myself sinking my teeth into my lips. Yeah, nothing is a given and people are going to have to die if I want out of here . . . but it still doesn't make it any easier, thinking about how or _when_ Marcia and I will have to call it quits.

"Live for the moment, Cia," I say, somewhat abruptly. "There are still fifteen tributes to contend with. And as far as I know, I'd rather see _them_ in the sky first before I think about us."

Marcia cheeks redden. "Well gee . . . I guess I feel the same way," she giggles somewhat, sipping the remainder of her cocoa. "Like I said to you back on interview night, you and me versus the _world_."

The grin on my face melts into a grimace as a series of loud crashes could be heard from directly outside. We quickly retreat to behind the large mahogany desk as the commotion becomes more coherent. Trying to ignore my heart as its beats bounce off my eardrums, I can't make out the noise in full . . . but I know enough that noise in an arena is _never_ a good thing.

"What is _that_?" hisses Cia, clutching the left-hand side of the desk.

I focus in some more. " . . . I hear the moans of the undead, and _thwacking_ alongside . . . furniture breaking?"

Cia stifles a squeal as a zombie bursts through the doorway in a plume of dust and splinters of wood, crashing to the floor with a hard thud. Looking closely, you could see that its head was _caved_ in – its blood quickly caking the floor. The struggle could now be heard as clear as day now, as the silhouette of a boy continues to bash away at a group of undead. _Luckily_ the plum red jacket he was wearing doesn't belong to that of a Career.

Unsheathing my dagger, I stride over the fallen body of the mutt – only for Cia to clasp my free hand.

"Are you _crazy_?!" she hisses, recoiling as another loud crash booms from outside. I gently tug her upwards, gesturing towards the obliterated entrance.

"Here _isn't_ safe anymore. Who knows, maybe he could use our help . . .?" I muse, glancing at the doorway. Humanity and common decency were common in the Games, most tributes would choose cooperation instead of confrontation nine times out of ten . . . _most_ of them.

A light scowl appears on her lips in a rare show of apprehension. "And if it turns out to be the _opposite_?"

I return the scowl with a firm gaze, we can't shy away from conflict for much longer. We need to show the audience we're just as viable as any older tribute.

"It'd be bound to happen _elsewhere_ if not now." I affirm.

After a moment's hesitation, she replies with a timid nod, clutching my shoulder as we both saunter through the destroyed door and into the hallway.

* * *

 _ **Occo Barst, 16, District 5**_

* * *

They're all _dead_.

I let out a roar as I smack the skin clear off the face of an undead mutt who was foolish enough to lunge toward me. _Valentina, Cveta,_ _b_ oth of them are _gone._ How am I going to build my traps without any help? Yesterday WASN'T supposed to happen like that! It was supposed to be me, her and Cveta, taking out enough tributes to get us further along and then –

 _And then what, it's the Hunger Games Occo – all of you are bound to die at some point?_

That's true . . . but that still doesn't help my appearance toward the spectators. Without them, I'm just another weirdo, a _laughingstock;_ they wouldn't want anything to do with me. The other tributes mean nothing, Valentina and Cveta were the only ones who _cared._

Piper and Quinton liked me . . . maybe _they_ could guide me on what to do next?

"Hello . . . Hello!?" I bellow as I scan around for the camera I _know_ is there. "PIPER, QUINTON, WHAT _DO I DO NOW_?!"

I receive no answer, only the growls of the undead as a group of them sprint and tumble down the hallways towards me. With a snarl, I swing my mace into the chest of one of them, launching them effortlessly into a bureau with a loud crash. Another tries his luck with a lead pipe, only for his head to collide into a wall from one of my swings. Four more swings is enough to firmly imprint its head into the wall as the rest of its body slumps against it.

 _Of course you didn't get an answer. You spooked them and the audience with that rather gruesome display back at your camp._

As I kick the leg in of another undead and bash its head open whilst it's down - effectively splitting the floorboards, I glance at my bloodied mace. Now it would be hard to see, but my encounter with that _idiot_ from District 10 resulted in his gore plastering my club. I must've bludgeoned him at least ten times before I came to again.

 _Yeah . . . Just like that time with Mom and Dad's Window. You really did a number on it, just like you did District Ten's head._

"I-I know that they . . . Please, not right now."

 _Uhp, bup! You know that you did it, no use lying._

 _"_ I didn't do anything; the window was already broken when I came in!"

 _You did iiit._

 _"_ I know they liked that window, _I know they did_ I just – I DIDN'T do it!" I bash the face clear off an undead before shoving them through a door, breaking it off its hinges in a cacophony of noise.

 _Yes you did. You smashed their window then did a number on their bathroom tiles – just like you did District 10. You're damaged goods, that's why Piper gave up on you and is allowing you to wander the halls like a madman._

"But- but I didn't . . . I _DIDN'T_!"

Soon the other undead quickly become bits and pieces as my mace makes quick work of them all. Some go flying through windows, into furniture or split in half with each swing I deliver.

In the end, I'm surrounded blood and gore . . . and two other tributes peering at me from behind a pillar.

* * *

 _ **Marcia "Cia" Mata, 13, District 11**_

* * *

I'm usually the optimist of the duo, but I knew I had a _bad feeling_ about this one.

He's glaring right at us, the bodies of the zombies strewn about in various forms of dismemberment. His eyes bulge like a deer caught in a light, his mace is caked with blood and bone from the felled mutts around him.

"Hey there . . ." murmurs Orville, adjusting his collar as he strides out into the open. "You OK?"

No answer in return, besides that frantic look in his eyes and a slight shift of his body towards us. I turn to Orville as he returns my gesture.

"It's Occo from training remember, the guy who ran out after having a _nervous breakdown_?" I whisper, nodding down the hallway.

"Let's just _leave_ . . . he's probably still frazzled by yesterday's events, whatever they were."

Orville shakes his head. "No, no, no, don't be so haste. Maybe we could partner up with him?"

I frown. "This coming from the guy who made me decline James and _rightfully so?_ "

"James was doomed from the beginning, Occo wasn't. Look at the way he took down those mutts. Maybe we could use a temporary hand." He gestures to my rucksack.

"Pass me your rucksack, maybe we can offer him a-"

That's as far as Orville gets before Occo comes storming over. With a guttural roar, his mace collides with the marble pillar in a splash of dust and fragments. I'm sent skidding across the floor, wincing as I come to a complete stop. Orville doesn't seem to be doing so well either, dodging each swing Occo sends his way– each more audible as the last.

Grabbing my spear I charge toward the bigger boy. "Don't worry Orville, I'm coming!"

Occo doesn't seem to notice my approach, as I level my weapon and aim it towards his back where his heart would be. This is it; I'm going to kill someone. Just a quick ram through the chest and it'll be over.

Or so I thought. Occo turns around, his mace at the ready as the metal ball collides against my stomach.

My vision goes white as I let out a sharp cry. From the ground I'm sent twirling into the air, colliding against the wall. Slowly, I clamber to my knees – throwing up all the cocoa I drank alongside yesterday's dinner. My vision goes from white to spotty, as my stomach flares up with pain. I can barely breathe . . .

"Marcia _HELP!_ "

Orville gags, his feet dangling helplessly, as Occo grips him by the throat and presses him against the wall. It looks like Orville's struggling to unclasp his mauser from his hip. When he does, Occo notices this – and they both struggle for the weapon only for it to skid across the floor. Occo rushes for the pistol, only for Orville to grip the pole of Occo's mace in an attempt to push him away.

" _Marcia, please get up!"_ Orville moans while the two struggle for dominance. Occo gets the upper hand, spinning Orville around and powering him over toward the balcony –where it appears he has Orville by the throat again, braced up against the railing.

With fresh air in my lungs again, I struggle to my two feet –clasping my fallen spear as I pivot towards the balcony where the two boys struggle.

" . . . _Please_ let me go?" pleads Orville, only to gag some more as Occo applies more pressure.

" _NO_ , I owe none of you _anything!_ " Occo retorts, hunching further over Orville.

"I'm gonna show them . . . I'm gonna show them that I'm not some _LOSER_!"

Using the spear as leverage I stand upright, twirling it in my hands before passing it to my dominant left arm – just like the instructors taught me. _Level the weapon, find the balance point, 'T' position . . . slight jog and –_

I let it fly.

The spear whistles through the air, landing squarely into Occo's back.

With a cry of pain, he lurches upright as Orville slips from under his grip. After a commotion in which Orville grapples Occo as he weakly defends – the District 5 boy is tossed over the edge. His black boots and shrill scream is the only thing I catch as I weakly stride over to the balcony. Glancing past Orville who desperately tries to catch his breath, I look down.

Occo is sprawled across the ground, his legs bent at unnatural angles. Dark spots dampen the area in which his kneecaps would be. I'm not quite sure if it's the wetness of outside or something else. His legs are the least of his worries, as the mutts quickly begin their descent on the boy. His screams fill the air as they claw at the boy, starting at the legs and thighs as Occo tried desperately to stave them off.

It was no use. Orville and I could only watch silently, as his cries were joined with the sound of snapping and gnawing. From his legs they moved on to the rest of his body, further gorging themselves. The motion pictures were nothing compared to the Hunger Games version.

I've had enough.

Orville watches in shock, as I slowly inch a concrete vase over the edge. Occo's cries are cut short as a sickening crack can be heard while the vase finds its target. His cannon fires instantly.

I stride backward, not wanting to see the mess three stories down. Even though I said I _wouldn't_ , I _killed_ someone. And . . . And I'm not sure _how_ to feel. Orville turns to me, his jacket splotched with the blood of Occo. His breath is heavy.

" . . . Good job Cia. It was him or _us_."

My stomach tightening in pain, I reply by dropping to the floor – the pain makes it almost unbearable to stand.

"Marcia!" he rushes to my side, zipping down my jacket, unraveling my shirt and my bandages to reveal the mutt bite I got yesterday. I wince at how it's blackened with blood that was once bright red.

He glances at me with shock, prompting me to shrug.

"I guess bandages and alcohol wasn't enough . . .? Heh heh heh . . ."

* * *

 _ **Vincent Barlow, 18, District 1**_

* * *

Another one bites the dust.

I traverse though the light rain as the cannon booms in the distance. Although I _hope_ to the gods that it was Aliyah's cannon – as she finally succumbed to her mutt scratch, I _highly_ doubt it. So, it must've been yet another non-Career tribute interaction . . . an interaction that _WE_ as a pack could've had if we weren't constantly bogged down by fighting zombie muttations that get replaced daily.

It's not just that either. Our so called 'leader' has failed at doing just that, _leading._

 _As I've just thought, fifteen tributes remain . . . we only need to stand each other for a handful more deaths before the real games begin,_ the show I _promised_ to deliver to the audience. I've seen it plenty of times, Games in which a whole lot of nothing is being accomplished. It'll be okay, the burst of action I desire will happen soon. Only then will my potential be truly unleashed.

Just before the cornucopia stands a trio of undead soldiers. With both hands grasped around my sword, I charge, impaling the first one through the back. My free hand clutches the neck of the second one as its hands remained outstretched. A knife sinks into its forehead as I rip the sword out of the first one and sweep the legs of the third.

Its hostile shrieks and snapping jaws are quickly silenced as my blade sinks through its eye.

Looking at the cornucopia and the surrounding areas, you would be surprised if someone told you that fighting had taken place here. All the bodies have been taken, alongside all the equipment and crates that once filled this cornucopia to the brim. . . Which means our chance to be rid of our wounds which seem to be getting worse by the day is slim to none. As if on cue, the slash I got across my forearm from the dog muttations that attacked days prior begins to flare up. The light drizzle from above is enough to sate the pain . . . but I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to keep moving forward.

I guess I should get out of the rain and report my findings.

…

As I tumble through the window and into our apartment camp on the fourth floor, not a second passes as I'm greeted with prongs and blades aimed at my throat.

My hands shoot upward in false surrender. "You can _relax_ now, it's just me."

Aliyah is the first to speak, sheathing her knife as she curls back up in front of the fireplace – her sneer still evident on her face. "Did you find supplies at the cornucopia?"

I slowly regard my allies, who take up various positions around the room. Kite remains propped up against a bed frame, coughing into a handkerchief while clutching his sides. Skylar aids him by giving him a pouch of water to drink, wincing while being cautious of the knife wound through her thigh since the bloodbath. Luana caresses her hands by the fire, letting out a sneeze as Nicolao and Merlyn keep watch by the door.

We've all been affected by the various scratches and cuts from the dog muttations. At first, that's what we thought they were –stupid scratches that some ointment can solve . . . we were wrong. Ever since Kite collapsed last night, it's as if all our symptoms decided to rear their heads. Cold sweats, vomiting, overall weakness . . . any one of these days, _we'll_ be the cannons the other tributes will be waking up to.

"Well," Aliyah snaps, stifling a cough. "Did you find anything!?"

My eyes don't dare meet theirs. ". . . There's _nothing_ left at the horn. It's all gone." I say lowly. There's a collective groan of despair, followed by harsh coughs brought on by the infections. Multiple gasps ring out as Kite heaves up the contents of his stomach into an empty pouch, before moaning with fatigue.

". . . Dressing it doesn't work," mumbles Skylar. "Antiseptic _doesn't_ work, what are we gonna do, die a _slow and painful death_?"

The ambient music that lulled in the background was replaced with that distinctive tune of violins and pianos that everyone across Panem is acquainted with. We all flinch when the door flings open, only to relax when Vi and Pax saunter in – dressed in their typical 'school-like' uniforms.

"You'd think they'd know to knock, especially in an arena like this." mutters Aliyah as she secures her cloak to her body.

"Doesn't our tune convey enough warning?" asks Vi.

"Listen Vi, Pax," I begin, striding towards them. "What's going on? Why are simple scratches getting infected like this?"

"You are experiencing the first bouts of infection from the Cerberus mutts deployed here two days prior." _s_ ays Vi.

"Be it a bite or scratch or exchange of bodily fluids through any orifice, the effects of the serum used on the muttations depicted in this arena is instantaneous and fatal." adds Pax _._

"So _what_ , if we don't figure ourselves out we'll turn into one of those _freaks_ walking around?" asks Luana.

"Woahwoahwoahwoahwoah . . . stop, stop, stop!" Aliyah interjects. "What serum are you talking about?!"

Nicolao raises his hand. "Is that what you did to those soldiers out there . . .? We're fighting them, so we should get a fair explanation!"

The room bursts into speculation involving various topics. 'Will we turn into those mutts?', 'How long do we have to find a solution?' so on and so forth.

* * *

 _ **Skylar Barassi, 17, District 4**_

* * *

The room bursts into heated debate. The likes of Vincent and Aliyah curse the holograms due to how unfair our situation seems to be, while Luana attempts to quiet them. I continue to watch Kite as he attempts to remain attentive, we don't want him turning into a mutt on us now do we?

"During The Dark Days, a serum tested by myself and my colleague here was used to revitalize the bodies of dying Capitol soldiers and animals of course." Begins Vi, unfazed by the commotion.

Her voice is enough to quiet the room entirely, as we slowly begin to saunter towards the holographic children.

"-They ' _revitalized'_ alright . . . but not quite in the way we intended them to. It reanimated their bodies, gave them the most basic of functions." says Pax.

"Perhaps they harbor very little intelligence, only to be driven by their basic urges." Says Vi.

"Basic urges to what, infect, kill and gnaw on the living?" I ask, as my voice drips with sarcasm due to how . . . ' _cliché_ ' this all seems. Unfortunately, what we see in Cinemas now appears to be more real than ever. All this undead stuff was just a 'what if' scenario, something we'd talk about at school Monday morning after a Friday release . . .

"Affirmative," Vi nods, "-Though to as what you're infected with, is the more malleable version of this serum."

"Fresh hosts of the serum are usually quite durable to damage. But due to prolonged exposure, their systems are weak." adds Pax _._

"This, on top of the anti-virus we dispensed to you on launch day is enough to dilute the serum so that it's akin to that of a severe influenza. This was done for the safety of those in your respective districts in the event of expiry." concludes Vi.

A collective sigh of agreement rings out from the pack. It makes much more sense now, that liquid the Peacekeepers injected us with alongside the tracker had an ulterior purpose after all.

"So where does that leave us right now?" asks Luana.

"Well, I'm glad you asked!" chimes Pax, clearing his throat as he glances at Vi.

"Infection ravages your alliance, as death seems more and more probable." Says Vi, her voice booming as if she were addressing the entire arena, not just our pack.

"Your blades run dull after hours of slaying hordes of undead." Says Pax as he inspects Luana's spears.

Vi gestures to Merlyn who sifts through his knapsack. "Even worse, your supplies seem to be _dangerously low."_

" _Fortunately_ , you aren't the only group of tributes facing these dangers." says Pax.

 _"Which is why Pax and I are inviting all remaining tributes to a feast! Slaying the undead while eliminating other tributes turns out to be taxing work, which is why we will be supplying you with the items you need to carry on the fight! The location of this year's feast will be marked on your communicuffs. We insist that you attend, as omitting yourself from this marvelous opportunity puts you at a disadvantage we doubt you could overcome. The feast will commence at precisely 3 o'clock tomorrow."_

"Be there or be square!" adds Pax.

"Good luck –and may the odds be ever in your favuh." Finishes Vi, curtsying as the two dissipate with a flash of thunder. The room, which was once filled with fatigue and frustration due to our packs lack of tangible action, is now filled with relief and anxiousness for tomorrow.

"I guess that means no more serious action until tomorrow." muses Vincent, giggling with joy. "I mean, its seven o'clock, what else can be done?"

Luana nods. "They want us to rest and prepare."

Aliyah seems to agree, nodding as she tears into a pack of her rations and retrieving a handful of instant-soup packets.

"Our cures will be in whatever packets they give us tomorrow for _sure_. For now let's eat and rest up for the night, we got a big day ahead of us. Maybe _now_ we can get things done."

We all snap to action, tearing into our ration packets to contribute more chicken stock to our soup. A _feast_ . . . after days of killing stupid muttations, the pack will finally get a good taste of action after our stunted display during the bloodbath - during _my_ weak performance at the bloodbath.

This whole process, volunteering and finally being in the arena, has been a guided tour for me. Tomorrow will be most definitely filled to the brim with fighting and killing. Maybe I'll find the Latina chick again, ram my trident through her spleen after her stabbing me in the thigh.

Will I be able to do that though, ream her in with my trident? After almost letting Mentan go? Mentan was younger, useless even. Rafaela is a _different_ story. Of course I'll be ready. Tomorrow will be my rite of passage, my chance to grow beyond the shadow I've been beaten into by Leilani.

Maybe then I'll grow into the person, the _Victor_ that Leilani will never become.

* * *

 _ **Jai Matisse, 18, District 12**_

* * *

"Ainsley was right about that 'high ground' stuff." I say, shoving another spoonful of stew into my mouth. It tasted perfect, reminding me so much of home. "Who knew District 12 we be so lucky this year, eh Townie?"

Lumina and I eat away at our dinner in an attic situated in the northern wing of the giant mansion. Just south of us is the _'The Plaza'_ , which seems to be the location of our upcoming feast.

"Yes," she muses, her spoon clinking as she finishes the remainder of her dinner. "It appears you and I will be in the . . . _'thick of things'_ very soon."

I can't help but smirk, overwhelmed with stupid assumption that things will go _exactly_ as we want them to tomorrow. But who in my position _wouldn't_ agree? If I look out the window right now, the cenotaph –the supposed place in which our goodies will appear is cast in a bright light. As soon as the table rises, all I'd need to do is swoop in and collect our loot! It's _fool proof._

Especially with eagle eye over here and her nifty little crossbow . . . speaking of _crossbow_ –

"Townie, are you sure you'll be able to use that thing for real tomorrow?" I jest, nodding to the crossbow slung across her back.

Her features grow serious, as she equips her weapon of choice and inspects it.

" . . . If I have to or if I see an opportunity then sure –I'm more than ready to use it."

"Does that mean the non-Careers are on the menu as well?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. She seems like a Townie through and though, if their bottom line is being threatened they'll find a way to one-up you.

She doesn't miss a beat. "Anything that brings me closer to home I suppose. If not by me, it'll be by someone else down the line."

I can't argue with that logic. It's funny how we all get into these little cliques and forget the real reason why we came here in the first place. In the interviews they always say that they let 'nature' take care of the alliance as a whole. I don't blame them; I can't see myself screwing over Lumina. But in a country like this . . . in a 'sport' like this when push comes to shove, people will only think of themselves. And I have to think for myself too.

 _Like how Elena screwed over Graelyn._

 _Stop it, stop it,_ _stop it._

"Stop what?"

"Huh?" I splutter, my eyes shifting towards my partner.

She has an incredulous look on her face. "Are you having those _stupid_ thoughts again?"

I slink back, clutching my dinner as I take a spoonful. "They're not _stupid._ "

"Then what are they?"

"I can't explain it." I shrug, cupping my knees. "It was _so bad_ in the Capitol. I could see what he saw down to the _barest detail,_ everyone from the Gamemakers to the master of ceremonies . . . Graelyn Nash, tribute of the Seventy-Seventh Annual Hunger Games. Graelyn was _me_."

"He had an ally in the Games you know, Elena her name was." I continue while ignoring the confused gaze Lumina regards me with. "She screwed him over, ran away while the Careers cut him into a bloodied lump of flesh."

"Okay . . ." begins Lumina, her eyes squinted and brows quirked. "I'll play devil's advocate. What does 'Graelyn' have to do with the present?"

"I can't keep my mind off of it!" I hiss, my fists clenched, "Back home, at least I had my friends to make it bearable. If it became too much, I'd go smash a crate or an old plate or two. Now that I'm here, living it over once again . . . history is repeating itself."

Lumina regards me with a blank stare. "Luckily Francine and Ainsley kept you straight, or else you would've been a bloodbath for sure."

I open my mouth to interject, only for her to wave me off. "Let's talk about Jai Matisse for a moment. Has Jai lived a good life?"

I didn't have to think long for that one. "Of course I had a good life. Everyone was on good terms with me. I had a decent job at the mines, acquaintances everywhere . . . life was good."

"Well think about that, because thinking about two dead children from _twenty years ago_ won't do you any good. Forget about Graelyn Nash and focus on more important matters, such as right now for instance."

I scowl, finishing the rest of my dinner. ". . . You sound like my father."

A smug smile plays on her lips. "Then I quite like your father, he sounds like a superb role model." she says, tossing me a pillow. "Sleep on what I said; we have an eventful day five ahead of us."

Begrudgingly, I accept the pillow as I settle into my sleeping bag and wait for sleep to overtake me. I suppose Townie has a point . . . spastics don't win Hunger Games, as seen with people like the District Six girl and the Five girl as well. I got friends and family at home that love me and Townie ain't no Elena.

Try as I may, I just hope that history won't repeat itself for a second time.

* * *

 _ **Rafaela Novia, 16, Snow Island**_

* * *

"How are your eyes doing?"

Landry's hands caress my back as I flush my eyes with water for the _umpteenth_ time. _Hijo de puta_ it _still stings_ after all this time. In the future, I'll be sure to keep my distance from those _muertos_.

"Not much different from hours prior, I can say that for sure." I grumble, accepting a wet towel as I continue to pat my eyes down. The more I focus on something, the more unbearable the stinging gets.

"I think I might need glasses if I get out of this place alive."

Landry stifles a snort. "I can't see you with glasses. Not with that 'tough-chick' exterior of yours."

" _Ha ha_ , _very_ funny." I deadpan, "Are you snarky like that at home too?"

She smiles. " _Yes_ actually, I can gladly let you know that I was voted ' _funniest'_ in my grade this semester."

Earning a curt shake of the head from myself, we quickly settle down as the national anthem plays throughout the arena. The face to fit the cannon that fired previously was that of the kid from District 5, completing that alliance of his partner and the sly girl from 6.

Landry lets out a low whistle. "I wonder how he bit it."

I scoff, shrugging as I level a table against the door entrance. "Don't know, _don't care._ All that matters is the feast tomorrow."

Landry slinks into her sleeping bag, letting out a slight yawn. "How confident are you about tomorrow?"

I grin, slipping into my own bag. "I've had _many_ dances with the devil back home. I'd do anything to get my hands on a decent weapon; I'm tired of using knives."

"Is that why you volunteered, to get a thrill or something?"

I ponder the question, fearing some sort of Capitol interference if I did explain. Meh, I might die soon so I might as well, no?

" _Please,_ I got pinched by the feds over some drugs. Rather than kill me on the spot, my mentor recommended that I volunteer to save face." I recite, fuming inwardly at how easily my goals and aspirations could be dismantled because of a stupid bloodsport.

Landry mews in approval. "A drug dealer eh? Maybe you Snow Island people have better reefer than Seven does."

Her face drops as I quirk my brows. It was as if she and I shared the exact same thought. _People were watching._

"Uh oh . . . well, sorry mom, sorry dad!" she says aloud, waving her arms into the air for a camera to pick up. "I bet they've done worse when they were our age . . ."

We both let out a genuine chuckle, as if we were having a _girl's night_ or something along those lines. It's good; it dulls the anxiety and fear the Games tend to bring.

"You got an eight or a seven in training . . . _how_?" she inquires.

"I had ' _experience'_ with this Hunger Games business, so I accepted the proposition. It's not like I had much choice." I muse, caressing the family ring that will forever remain on my neck.

She lets out another whistle. " . . . Your parents we're gangst –"

"My parents were _affluent_ people, yes," I quickly interject; retribution and blackmail were _always_ lurking around the corner. "They were murdered because others were _jealous_ of their achievements. My parents, mi tío, mis primos . . . all of them were _killed_. I was only ten years old. Luckily I was away when it happened."

Landry turns to face me, her lips contorted in a slight frown. "I'm sorry to hear that . . . how did you make ends meet?"

My eyes shift from her blue ones to the window. "Well . . . many people on Snow Island pay _handsomely_ for the comfort of a young girl."

She purses her lips in reply, and I don't blame her. Snow Island is Panem's entertainment central; you'd be _foolish_ not to cash in on the vast opportunities our island holds.

"From there, I attempted to reclaim what was my family's affluence . . . which brings me to today." I gesture towards her. "Me shacking it up with you and twenty-five others until one remains."

"Jeez, you seem like quite the go-getter. What about school and stuff?"

"Dropped out at thirteen," I drawl. "Cash is king as they say."

Through the darkness of the room, I can still make out her flushed cheeks "What about a boyfriend?"

"No, no boyfriends. I've dealt with enough men; I doubt I'd have much patience for someone my age."

"Good because _most_ boys are well . . . _fuckboys_. With their stupid leather jackets and ducktail hairdos, they're only in it for _one thing_ and one thing only."

We giggle once again like the threat of death wasn't looming around the corner. As the night progressed we dropped in and out of conversation, conversing about her school soccer team, her parent's tavern 'The Red Fern', her just as popular brothers and in hushed whispers –her 'dramatic' dating life.

"Tomorrow is looking up to be an eventful day." Landry ponders.

I can't help but nod in agreement. "Yup, it _sure_ is. We'll make for the plaza by the crack of dawn. Hopefully during all the confusion, we'll swoop in and take what's ours."

It'll be simple, like taking candy from a baby. Hopefully by the time the day is out, even more loose ends will be tied up, bringing me further to getting outta this dome and my plans back on _track_.


End file.
